Noon - poesia
I choose an image with my head,
I was wearing it with apparent carelessness
And bring home the smile
Who was sitting on the suitcase.
Is it better with red or black?
But today it does not matter,
Today reign over myself
The vibrating skin can no longer wear heavy clothes.
I removed my portrait
And the five-point nail
Who had been holding him for some time.
A white stucco finger will be the remedy
The holes in the wall
And its gray contours.
There is a fiery breath in the shadows
Of my noon.
What is peace?