cómo suena (Laje al inglés)
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my table-cloth city
my table-cloth city
dresses her roof legs
with delicates paviment nets.
the paving stone takes a breathe
and remembers cargo´s ships dreams
selling with its liberal swing
a class desire: be nation.
going grains and coming stones,
sweet grain that pigeons eagerly eat
till bursting below a wheel.
so if worms, darling, make you sick
never forget that you´ll be as well
stock in that stew.
the trolley bus rails, useless,
agree their pure parallel love
like lovers when sighing
dazzle by the moon
of caresses and kisses drunk
they promise a no-existing for always
cause there always is a third in love
and if this night at rosepark
exiled trans remove their thongs
to give their best black kisses
you, darling, would you say yes or no
to those aphrodites coming out of the lake
with their hymen updated and miles of
Gardel´s smile?
my table-cloth city
dresses her roof legs
with delicates paviment nets.
the paving stone takes a breathe
and remembers cargo´s ships dreams
selling with its liberal swing
a class desire: be nation.
going grains and coming stones,
sweet grain that pigeons eagerly eat
till bursting below a wheel.
so if worms, darling, make you sick
never forget that you´ll be as well
stock in that stew.
the trolley bus rails, useless,
agree their pure parallel love
like lovers when sighing
dazzle by the moon
of caresses and kisses drunk
they promise a no-existing for always
cause there always is a third in love
and if this night at rosepark
exiled trans remove their thongs
to give their best black kisses
you, darling, would you say yes or no
to those aphrodites coming out of the lake
with their hymen updated and miles of
Gardel´s smile?
***
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mi ciudad mantel
mi ciudad mantel
empilcha sus piernas de azotea
con unas delicadas redes de asfalto.
el adoquín sale a respirar
y recuerda sueños de buques cargueros
vendiendo con su vaivén liberal
el deseo de una clase: ser nación.
granos de ida y piedras de vuelta,
dulce grano que devoran las palomas
hasta reventar bajo la rueda.
y si los gusanos, mi amor, te dan asco
no te olvides nunca que vos también
vas a ser caldo de ese puchero.
las vías del trolebús, inútiles,
afirman su casto amor paralelo
como los amantes al suspirar
encandilados los ojos por la luna
borrachos de caricias y besos
se prometen un siempre que no existe
porque siempre hay un tres en el amor
y si esta noche, travestis exiliadas
en el rosedal se corrœn la tanga
para tirarte mejor sus besos negros
vos, mi amor, ¿dirías que sí o que no
a esas afroditas que salen del lago
con el himen renovado y la son
risa de Gardel?
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