Alcídes Herrera :: Poesía

Seven Black Drops

All you have to do is show up once or twice,
so you can fill up the hard drive in a day.
I hardly think at all: I just go through the phenomena,
I can't help but want to categorize things.
My mother and God both say:
To think, you need something they didn't give me.
You fill the room where I used to wait for the Visitor,
as empty-headed as an ox, with a beer slung over his shoulders.
I remember the objects that were with us,
how they achieved their own resurrection,
A week later, in Haitian hands.
Now she comes up with dishes that mainly feature prickly pear,
Wrap gifts with the leftover Valentine's Day wrapping paper.
It amazes me to feel pure love, to experience a hangover, and to let myself go—preferably,
to the world that comes next.
He uses the sky to find his way:
He forgets you so much that he doesn't even know you.
Seven black drops fell right before my eyes.
It wasn't over there—it was right here.
There are some things that can only be explained on a train,
watching the fields go by. Here is the sign of your path:
If anything doesn't add up here, we'll come back to it.
Let's go over it, even if they accuse us of being ghosts,
or give us a lot of names.
As the creatures come for me, I roll the dice
and I bring a red star to my mouth.
I'm talking about the world from which it was launched
this way of representing.
There, you can hear the sound of the invocation,
Channels cut through the air.
The market square, right in front of my girls,
while the beings come for me, sing with restraint
to the head, to beer, to seven black drops.

Coordinated Universal Time

It was, like a mailbox on the eve of a holiday,
In a new assault on my old heart, a mark
in the air, the cathedral
that, up until today
Keep all your bones safe,
mother of the world and of oblivion.
It was a boundary similar to a glance
of your daughters, who were already yours even before they were born,
that they call you
from a landfill in New Orleans.
It was bread with tomato,
the bewilderment of a new sunset,
Amtrak,
The fields go by.
Also a kind of reconciliation
with the rubber band of time,
with users of the time rubber,
Some photos from Brazil.
Evening Mailbox
It will never be the image of those sunken ships,
It won't be a buttercup.
It was an equal limit
instantly
when I love you and can't remember where I am,
Who are you,
Why am I watching three TVs?.
Instead of saying it, I'll check it.

Obsoneto 33

Luis de Velazco died at El Morro
and at El Morro he shouted. The English were already
there were good ones and bad ones, and the months
Their fatal desire wasn't repulsive

and sometimes they sold pan de flauta.
Today you're coming. In yellow ships.
In understated songs. The simple ones
The springs have passed, and you're cautious

and you defend a temple. This delusion
to save a part of the mind,
her winter surprise, full of lilies

and future nostalgia for the present,
Today, Lord, send us a strange martyrdom
Velazco and the spot on his forehead.

Pavlidis' Death

Flat tire, broken tooth.
Some pain is bound to come
of the hills in Portugal,
in yellow ships.
Camping slang,
broken elephant,
You'll find out when it's time to get it on.
Kill me on a Saturday,
take place at Lila's Bar

The March

So quiet, so rough,
He was involved in the revivals
of the lilac flower.
Symbols of the River
They have to read so much about gravity
and, all alone,
very close to the country house
of the Theosophists,
will boast.
So distrustful, so poor,
He woke up at six
and he was walking
all the way to the alley
from the bakery, he would get involved,
Oh, in religion,
in a single rebellion.
Have a nice day.
In so many escapes from Alcatraz
They have to write it.