LIGHTS OUT DOWNTOWN

as if a delivery van crashed into the car of a movie star

and the doors would open and the load spread out on the runway

would see the blood of the star mixing in the dead water of the curb

the reporters' red footprints up and down smoking white cigarette and making makeshift ashtrays

they showed the world the exact moment of stardom of a tragedy

for later lunch, quiet, slices of raw fish and soggy bean curd

as if a holiday accountant would strike bullets at a puppy of any mammal

unaware that he was being photographed by a sixteen-year-old girl with an i phone

on any given afternoon, in any grove, because any place is an altar for a new existence

but everything is so fast that there is no time to join branches and set up a stage of stones

IT´S TIME TO BE MASSACRED

after the digital age I have lost the notion that sometimes things happen by chance

little man of ink crossing the turpentine channel

neither blotch nor stain

came from white goes to white again

the streets end long before the fatigue of the march

the alphabets do not contain the myriad of new letters that we learn while we sleep

I wanted to dance with that girl but she might find it out of date

I wanted to ask the time for that boy, but I'm afraid he'll find it too deep

people like me expect extinct reactions

formerly happiness was beer in the crates

as if all the whores started giving passwords to download their fake orgasms

and I would pick a new flesh by gps according to color, height and race

everything seems too safe until the battery runs out

Has anyone seen an outlet in this place?

people like me have archaic actions

formerly once a stone was enough to kill a doubt