no longer move ...
This month of July has been a month of absence, has been a month of sentences. No doubt when the deaths are multiplied make that glass of reality allows us to glimpse it from time to time. Maybe that's our problem ... we looked only occasionally. A confession that we do when mailboxes are open letters, some confidence that we should move and go rinse the curtains of invisibility of the suffering of many women still remains hidden in the silence of his solitude hoarse. Silences that we slip and make them walk. In rooms there are libraries of sounds and silences, in the sea but no hinges reflexes. In these reflections I like to think because they are the rooms of dreams, freedom of words, of ... a new life.
Dedicated to telling me every day that an ear I love you, which tells me the lyrics ... dome life imprisonment for her my kisses © www.quieroayudarte.com
siempreescampa.blogspot.com
no longer move ...!
the rubble of their sentences
marbled on the docks where the pigeons infinite
waves are sad today arbor
burial and where flowers climb black powder.
no longer move ...!
slipped to the ground
stitching strands of that rain is always waiting, like a wet dress
hunger,
as a battle of cold rivers without aging.
no longer move ...!
or on the edge of nouns
clovers Baladres wilt,
those still looking in the neighborhoods of the puddles reflections
tabs ashes.
no longer move ...!
chips reapers, water or life imprisonment
the bodice of her kisses
or the corridors of butterflies in the air
make love to the waves of wind with sheets.
no longer move ...!
the hideouts of the nails in your tears, nor the brotherhoods
the pots of paper flowers planted between clocks
that dreamed wait to undress
remnants of cloudy skies.
no longer move ...!
swallows sleeping on sidewalks, not even light
sealed cracks in the fog, only the branch
fingers together talking asking
supported under the nose.
no longer move ...!
naked thirst drops of your tears, and the thoughts
slid from the roof, but if you will
knees
stars for not to close the air echoes.
no longer move ...!
wars where they earned the moment,
or absences morning with innocence, exile
only wars where you turn
soap and rinse time.
no longer move ...! Sidewalks
reflected in the windows, dressed
, paths of dust and water,
only scribbles drawn
shoes in the sand where they reap the endorsement of silence.
no longer move ...!
scratches on the pieces of the time, wearing glasses
or hands-free hugs,
only breaks the dawn of
stormy night where they lie on hangers.
no longer move ...!
staples which snuggles
the smooth but scratched the timidity of caresses
and clean air
clothing closets that perfumes the hand crank of a life time. © www.quieroayudarte.com
siempreescampa.blogspot.com
Greetings, time without updating this blog, back today to announce that it is on the air since 18 September, the project he was working on: The Orange Rocker, the radio program I may be listening on Saturday from 9am to 12 noon at the station 97.7FM Evolution. 
