Al Poeta
Real de Catorce
To the Poet
There are no cities that cry
for every poet that dies.
If they live their life in secret
who will ever remember them.
Spit out the phlegm of fire
blaspheme, scare away the vultures
teach love in dreams
write over God.
Continue with your eternal noise
do not regain sanity.
I don't want to soften, I can't.
Your death burns my fingers;
why did you chew on that cold?
Why that unhappy slam?
Continue with your eternal noise
don't abandon your bolero.
Continue with your eternal noise
don't abandon your bolero.
