| Padre | no leas a Shakespeare |
| hay estatuas en el metro | la Pietá |
sostiene los huesos del suicida
Esta telenovela no es Hamlet
ni mis somnolientos pasos
tremolan la Venus metropolitana
bajo las venas metropolitanas
la lluvia cruza el mundo como fantasma
| la cultura son rieles | los ángeles |
tronan las trompetas en los túneles
| azules del ocaso |
es tarde | es tarde |
la inflatión ha causado demasiadas bajas en la tierra de nadie
& yo te lanzo frases
misiles u oraciones después de los ataques
un columna de fantasmas mis palabras
ladridos en ladrillos se deslizan
bajo el neón vernacular
| Padre | no leas a Shakespeare |
alza tus ojos a los ángeles ateridos de tedio
ángeles subterráneos liberados de pájaros & flores
| esperando la daga celestial | la paloma |
| descendida a la tierra precaria | a la oscura |
en el sube & baja de las escaleras mecánicas
| Las estatuas son ángeles |
caminan | salen de las cloacas |
bailan
| súbeme en tus párpados |
besa esta frente |
Es tarde en Chile
Quiero ver los días anteriores
quiero la sal del aire alcanzarla
Padre
Es mía la calavera sobre tu mano
& el último tren atraviesa tus ojos.
|
| Father | don't read Shakespeare |
| there are statues in the Metro | the Pietá |
holds up the bones of the suicide
The soap opera is not Hamlet
even the somnolent steps
do not shake the metropolitan Venus
beneath the metropolitan veins.
rain traverses the world like a ghost
| culture is rails | the angels |
blow trumpets in the tunnels
| blues of the nights |
it's late | it's late |
inflation has downed too many in no-man's land
& I toss you phrases
missiles or prayers after the attacks
my words a column of ghosts
barks slip into bricks
beneath the neon vernacular
| Father | don't read Shakespeare |
lift your eyes to the angels numb from tedium
subterranean angels freed from birds & flowers
| awaiting the celestial dagger | the dove |
| going down into the precarious earth | in the dark |
in the up & down of the escalators
| The statues are angels |
they walk | come up out of the sewers |
dance
| up above is a world | they say |
| lift me up in your eyelids | kiss this forehead |
It's late in Chile
I want to see the earlier days
I want to feel the salty air
Father
| don't bother to read Shakespeare anymore |
the skull in your hand is mine
& the last train passes through your eyes.
|