El Matador

I feel a deep thread
that crosses the space
-from time to time it arrives
slowly-.
I smell the plains
full of pilgrims
-the plain is called
road-.

Suddenly I taste
a strange mineral,
sometimes I feel like a man
and often an animal.
Desire gets mixed up
to warm the skin
with distant roars
that remind me of a woman.

And on a narrow beach, these reminiscences of poison
fall from the sky.
I don't know, but there are restless days
where I destroy whatever is near me
very primitively, almost savagely,
with hatred, with contempt, with resentment,
with hurtful words, with claws and teeth,
with rage, with violence, with horror.

I have sung to death
like no one alive,
but I always said:
dear.
With every word
there are millions of bodies
and I killed them myself:
forgive me.

Sometimes I forget
that I kill to live
and I forget the burials
and I don't want to sleep.
The day they accuse me
I won't defend myself:
this guilt is very old,
I inherited it from everyone.

And on a narrow beach, these reminiscences of poison
fall from the sky.
I don't know, but there are restless days
where I destroy whatever is near me
very primitively, almost savagely,
with hatred, with contempt, with resentment,
with hurtful words, with claws and teeth,
with rage, with violence, with horror.