Counterstrategies
It emerges at last
from a distant shore.
This stands for nothing,
for nothing at all
if reconsideration is
valid and calculated.
It also emerges from
selected fires, from
Never-Crossed-Bridges,
specifically designed to
enlarge an existent curve,
full of primary workshops.
It emerges, brave, from
Gorgons, from emeralds
throughout the woods
covering isles, awaiting
the timid implementation.
It is simply advisable.
but, at the end, when tim
is our time,
then the question arises
and with it, the everlasting lack of meaning:
from where are we speaking?
Alas! no place, no waves.
Just the emerging fog, from
a distant shore, which, you know,
stands
for nothing.
The simplistic poet
He writes with some supplemental iodine
that substitutes Indian ink.
Yep, the same iodine used to match
fetal accretion rates;
that way, do words prevail when still coming
from
the simplistic poet.
He, an old man, embarrassingly old,
hides from night’ shadows
behind the transparent table.
Indeed, its panoramic surface hides
nothing from the spluttering game
of fire.
Fire crackles in his hands at last!
He used to write, it is said, lyrics for
some other Canadian poet, although
he does not live in Toronto anymore.
One could think that it was
a sort of camouflaged divorce, but
they really wanted to protect one another
against
The Unexpected.
Nowadays, the simplistic, old, embarrassing
poet
only represents a danger
for
superficial observers.
Fotografía: Mar Esteban
Abril 2014
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