Llanquihue
A wave of kissing, cold, face
the distance two, three caravans and many more shades of gray
laden with flowers that mourn the passing of those who remain together waiting.
And beyond inconceivable a city built with tears,
so far and so lost that it does not appear in the memories.
That way
slowly disappears and there is not a singer hungry or
blind poet who wants to seduce the wind so that it returns to its winter
looking for a soft toy, a snail
tin or enameled pot.
Tomorrow a new born,
belly will leave it running
blanket copper curls and get dirty with so many antics
free bird, beast captivates. Do not wait
hunger
not afford him the same stories.
Another guitar make a noise,
two, three and many more songs in the streets drunk
filled with insomnia and a few beers and cheap prize.
Tomorrow will be better.
appease the warlords is to grumble tireless in the guts of many,
seek death or a piece
bread, they say, you never know. Perhaps a coin
the calme;
a drawer to keep them.
cities, cities of sun, rotting flowers
between concrete walls disappear
trembling at the foot of a monument.
A new life is born
a verse that lines up at the tip of the tongue.
be here today a message.
Tomorrow. A lot of words,
Perhaps the shores of Llanquihue.
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