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.... and now pointed at your skull

And cry, cry until you find a reason.

I'm the last primate become a sniper.

And now pointed at your skull,
because the pulse does not fail me, I have the tiebreaker
,
sent and unarmed,
my love was not enough.

And cry, cry out to you.
Because time waits for us and give us reason .
(Najwa Nimri: The last ape)

Or rather ....

harden my skull with chemical letters that no knife can blaze a trail that promises light leakage of its sunsets

close my eyes so they can not find the flash of my enthusiasms
patches pirate they will suspect that the vacuum and clothes or embalm my eyes (which some felt sweet and sad)

send cover my head with
agricultural plastics and instead of my face will be the horse of nitrate
chile
taponaré my ears with wax or with my own saliva coagulated blood
bee will not hear my goal and gladly pay the price: I will not hear my soul


will be the forgotten face of which no one finds a photo

my skin color
exiled all my pallor, my embarrassment will become - if they want - in archetypes that are not meat

the magic of light
marginaré refuse to portray me every metaphor that speaks of the charm or enclose shadows into something like an aura

display will turn my tongue into sausages and steaks will chew me


and in the shadow of the evening call to all my dead
to ask them to muddle with their jargon

grammar written in lower case as punishment
as a painter, I draw as the void left by your hands to be dropped on the table

hate humanity with the silence
be the last primate in your collection of still lifes

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