Monument

Monument of a lonely afternoon
when the wind blows reflections
of young vendors onto the wise and
irreplaceable words
monument of everyday chatter without
conviction, overseeing the unmatched
bodies, mixed limbs, legs that grow
in the asphalt sweat, monument
without a bang, without pleasure
with inert touch deep in your viscera
like dead polypus in an empty sternum
and voila, from the depths of falls and
risings horrible angels appear, ready
to claim darkness to gain belief
and take advantage of your metal.
I, motionless in front of you, don’t beg
for my death nor do I get lured
by withering immortality.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562972

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08L1TJNNF