pigeons on the roof of the house
miserable,
in the silence of the afternoon.
The clock stopped at the time of my death.
The route of the cable gloomy,
with the iron guard of those angry dogs.
rusty cars as
vertebra of the past where the light never entered
knowledge.
pain as wrought iron
that window of the house miserable.
saw images of my childhood,
in the sound of the blows.
jumped on the backs of dogs,
in the sunshine. About
faded clothes.
The path of the delivery of letters,
in rain taps,
with the echoes of those vultures
in power lines.
