the poet among words

"the poets can be defined as beings who know best
say what hurts?" - Pedro Salinas -

when we squeezed the light in the room
Salinas spoke his words (I told you about)

I knew that I must wet flowers
open the windows
I knew that I must white shirt to wear
to run youthfully to ignite fire in the stove
waiting for nightfall
reading good stories

cold concrete
moss growing over words
with warm hands heating death books
a kind of hatching blood injuries

I not repeat

I see pink elephants on the walls
obsessive fluff

fear of reality breaks my ankles
the left wall of the right oblique
executioners in the clothes of the Gods

eyes see so many nightmares
colors do not cease to interfere

the night came down too fast
through the eyes of a feline I look
snarl at words smell
words from which
only deafness and curse of death untie me

and you