Bedsheets With Peace Signs

FUNERAL POETRY

Unquestionably, in rented houses,

the banks of the bread and village status hat Sun,

against large and desperate employees and widows

terrible that emit yellow hair structure,

and die, perhaps, the roar from the mountain.

After spending power and pants, sweating

murderer terror and dignity which are going to shoot the terrified

soldiers

and looking, with teeth full of mystery,

how dear woman is already crumbling and cracked for years, and greatly

grandeur grandiose useless

sad

and squeezes his flesh against the walls,

or be full of flames as at the time of the peach was a dove and

when we look at a dead man.

human hope is destroyed, the lily, and shield

corroding rust is between blue pots and dead serious

spectacle,

then spends carried in

wins and a urine to hit cemetery This grave condition lights, bunk

that seems to resonate

.

not drunk,

ah, no more drinking red wine jars principal of

substantial element of bees

eternal

cintunón not have had the general's tribe,

and roll bed that great world to world,

where they grew wild beasts, bees

funeral, torment Panthers guitar, flashing, and a

red sword with which to write the proletarian revolution,

and in those millions of sunsets,

in which we took the shoes, sobbing,

the moon had not come naked

blooming, eternally, comfort the dying.

A creature, how he was plucked and how it floods, the

concurrency, reflection

matter of grave,

fail because it is dark when the glands,

and in the depths of man's liver defoliate violets.

must possess the heroism of dying well, nailing

fingers his dagger eyes and accumulated in darkness, without abandoning

will rot.

Now, if we know how the soles crack solar

misery and once you hear the bullet to the grave,

and gold and made in the throat is going to tackle.

cot bronze

If acquired, the bureaucrat will die happy as a worm,

with his tongue hanging out between the family, straightening his

gross awareness of bird and servant, as he

up the house and will be located where the things conclude.

all lights were extinguished, drips the wind and the sun takes the form

the funnel.

Back then we will understand that attacked and slaughtered humanity

to buy

laurels to her friend,

who built his tribe in the public square shouting as steel, which tore

women and nations and

rolled all

lightning, society

and pastures of doom,

and we understand us, because everything has been useless and has lost:

a suit, heroic terrors, covering the world began, and the infinite

food

provincial

die in mattress enormously great and sorrowful, bitter rempujando

cars

third rempujando efforts, rempujando

singing rempujando depths, rempujando pigeons, abandoned,

because he is dying and his heart, it dies, then,

and powerful who invade the sand, the ocean, his gray horse and

dark pearl, which is within the orange, but is designated

Lucho or Sunday or Pancho.

Those were hot and bright,

burial hair pulling, we will decompose and

making oil, making

noses ", worms, making history,

until we were naked, no meat, no guts, no bones,

us without us, just a hole

than we were when we were the same with this

language, when even

man was never what I wanted and I could never,

and drink, also, to spread life,

tired and dissatisfied, as the horses of the idealist.

There, a single grape will be equal to a snake and an idea, or a calf

paraffin, and the scorpion

about girls in purple,

or nest the spider religious cradle of bird naked

defoliating trees,

events will cover the role of the leaf, the syllabary yellow

so high, miserable soldier bottles,

the dire need to cling to their own sighs, scratching

mattress down

collapsing,

when the agony began their invasion of shipwreck tremendous flood, and lost

made furniture, everything starts to become a rotating,

screaming, rolling in turmoil,

to fall around the late in his skin.

Roses on black and black people wind

farewell fermenting bitterness, temporary casings to tears,

hairs growing in the dark her scream.

Not to mention the future of sobs,

when the future city with lime and cement us organize,

then loneliness colossal atom

against our form and scope: its scope, oh! shipwrecked heart, triggered

privacy,

not heard his cry, his tenacious cry, the cry of blood that perishes

recovering initial terror.

only, not being able ever to understand the inside, in bones, that substantial

not us, our actions, our shoes,

our loves, our senses, our expense, our ideas,

but the infinite universe and hailing society, energy

historical dialectic, expressed by the person and

transience of the individual, tied

on these murky and dusty,

that could be apple or larger powder, the bereaved

usual, the hero,

the left, the dark and in the bureaucracies copretérito accumulated

the eagerness to toil, so many hard things with pink chest,

in which we place our powerful love and his whip? Seaweed and his pants

aroma-casting, because the hug

naked, he became more beautiful,

laughing, like silver or white water, waving the black flag of

hair from the deserts,

above it, aquesta lot of terror in which we die.

That is the consciousness and being, mixing and burning trees

panoramas, to the song preterit, stirring

brain and memory verses? A big space?, And enter the dead

left

and song of the bird in the poplars of the cemetery,

fighting with us, wormy, like rotten sardines, or stuffed into a caricature

store

sad

to death because they like the food, and smell

goodbye death and skin and all businesses,

fruit, silver, clothing, burial, and only

sickle and hammer us light matter, and large houses

iron fire.

Pablo de Rokha