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Saturday 21 April 2012

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal-


The cruel voice builds
a landscape of hate,
which shoots out stones
into the flesh of
the souls it targets
and always hits its mark.
Bodies are left for
dead and the cruel
voice does not shed
any tears for them.


Her heart was a stone.
It was like a boulder,
like concrete.
like a brick wall,
like a rock,
hard as a mountain,
all shapes of mountains,
like a diamond,
like a statue.

I do not know why

I am seeking her.
I look away.
I cut myself
like before,
like when I was a child.

Her lips are soft.

I kissed them in my mind,
where she bit my lip.

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