For Camilo Herrera
Before all, I held firmly
gifted to the blanket that covered me.
was blue, and still smelled like my brother.
The squeezed tightly.
hum of wind came through the window.
a song without the author sounded clear.
And with this silence in my ears and my eyes.
Then began the journey. The
sky was split in two.
a tiny spider,
insects began to fall,
The table dancer my door,
was black and white.
And the red sun to pop-
felt hands walking down the back,
a woman from the waist, all purple, with
eyes still, and green hair.
I sweated. She kept running his hands through my skin
abandoned. A dog barked in the desert
Avenue
I have said he suffered from insomnia,
and said she was suffering from love.
The curtains were renamed.
now called hope.
and agitated by a wind that seeped or
out of my broken lungs
danced and moved
revealing a simple night
Bogota, full of silhouettes.
One night abandoned, and smoking
yellow fingers.
came the dawn. And honey flakes fell
cafes
all perfectly round.
pianos falling from the sky.
fell
eighth, fell naked children.
rained tears, and a technician
rained said absences.
watches stopped. The
letters were left running.
A chess game stayed at tables,
and the lady who every day is
in pajamas, now put heels, and lipstick applied.
The bed began to swallow.
Detective, I said it was laziness,
among cups, and hats,
I told him it was nostalgia.
That there were days when nostalgia was suffering
some terrible appetites.
that swallowed everything, and it was unrealistic.
He, with the fingers, called
that broke three eggs.
I ordered a coffee, more coffee than milk.
memories then turned to stone.
Stalactites of unfulfilled dreams.
Lovers
left a pair of socks and left.
The daughter of a friend who liked to see bears
drawn on the wall of his room.
The first death I saw the front,
the first killed at the corner of my house
with a bullet across the middle of the chest,
and another shot which opened the way between the neck and head.
Then began a dizzy spell. Vomiting
without programming.
Sleep next to a bucket.
try sleeping
aside, thinking aside,
lovemaking hand,
eating side.
and vomiting was not choking me.
A dream travel season,
the Amazon, Berlin, Budapest,
Puerto Salgar, Mompox. Visits
four seconds each.
A couple of bars, greeting,
and back to the plane of dreams.
A bottle of rum uncovered
girls playing a firing squad.
1, 2, 3, and the trash can to
fuck the edge of batter.
I dreamed I was a spy,
a subcontractor of the KGB,
ideological
an orphan, a paralytic
with lung problems.
dreamed that came the Carnet de Bolaño dance
and I told him to come down the speed
the old porsche who was at 100 per hour.
Another day down the guard,
and laughing, a new nightmare was coming.
A witch-headed snake, wanted
read my hand, I strove to hide
palms under the pillow,
but every attempt seemed empty, seemed untroubled.
The witch was not stupid,
read my soles,
and instead of saying the future
gave me part of an endless
diseases that swallowed the heart of my beloved acquaintances.
And then, softly,
solo piano began to sound.
The bucket vomiting disappeared,
the blanket from my brother went back
sandpaper.
memories faded,
was born again with nothing,
without language, without a word
unlearned
without friends without family
without my
without you
The woman who appeared with green hair,
of my back was encroaching
and he pulled a dove deformed
mouthfuls of rice at a rate
bored watching television.
After completely woke up,
and everything was in place,
a friend who was smeared on the jacket were
as smearing lotion,
welcomed me,
I told him I felt awesome time step,
and he said, had only
past ten days I missed.
Edison Diaz
Edison Diaz 
