Bajo Este Cielo

Under This Sky

I have committed the brutal clumsiness...
of saying what I knew I was saying,
and I didn't wonder if it could leave
from the heart to the head,
from the heart with a march of sadness,
from the head with rebellious wind,
I have profaned the limbo of the skinny, persistent, and dirty reason,
perched on the biting trickery so from me,
that I reached your nothing,
which awaited me eagerly and reserved,
wrapped in pale minutiae.

I told you certain and clear, my journey,
my boundary from comfortable silence,
only the smoke remained as in incense
and the smell of a silent laugh,
and there goes my illusion dislocated,
mortal, disjointed and without consensus,
there goes my idiocy like the flock
stench of fat and offered
in repugnant meekness erect,
as the years stand without reason,
numeral reclined on a cloth,
to rehearse a memory in oblivion.

I told you, I told you because I wanted you to know...
that I am what I will be, but very far away,
where all reflections are lost,
and beyond if you wanted,
but I will be for myself, even if I don't want to...
and never forget that I am your mirror.