ABAJO EL BIOPODER PATRIARCAL

Going to the truth around barefoot,

leaving those passageways back

where no one could find strength enough.

still looking up to these shadows

that never left you being you are.

simply and exciting

as touching the sand.

weary and hypnotic

as a dervish dance.

life is the routine you're building up.

late for advice

time for making up.

on the top of a hill

the old smells his tea.

"season of migrations"

he thinks.

fixing his gaze on the animal eyes,

open the cage with rush and care,

now ready for chance.

one bird more in the air.

but the little chick prefers to dead at home.

november 2006