See this city of men,
that moves its rhythms diurnally
away from my stars:
third on the right and straight on into the sun.
I laugh while looking
down upon those silly fools: men in hats,
and cars
and home loans.
Look at their gruesome prickly faces and long legs in slacks.
They forgot about time.
They always crumple like paper,
bent up at the end.
It will never happen to me.
I will keep my course
and laugh,
and never love
or know what it is to have a birthday, one year older and another year lost.
All of my years will cling to me
like flight feathers.
And in the night, I will come to their nurseries and take the lost ones. I will show them the principle constellations, third on the right and straight on until morning.FDM
El Golpe Avisa 