Status Updates From Poet in New York

Look at the concrete shapes in search of their void.
Mistaken dogs and half-eaten applies.
Look at this sad fossil world with its anxiety and anguish,
a world that can’t find the accent of its very first sob.

“Aquellos ojos míos de mil novecientos diez
no vieron enterrar a los muertos,
ni la feria de ceniza del que llora por la madrugada,
ni el corazón que tiembla arrinconado como un caballito de mar.”