"Making Deals with Devils to Dance with Angels"
I belong to a cold street,
where tenants shout in and out of their tenements.
Where a Captain of his waves revises the commandments.
Where a silent artist kisses herself to sleep midday.
Where broken lights of freedom flash in an attempt to restore order.
Where Simon comes to get what he wants.
Where sex rests behind our eyelids.
Where food costs an arm and a leg.
Where food for soul is scarce.
Where food for mind is on every corner,
on the tip of every tongue, in the black abyss of every pupil.
Where I come to starve myself.
And if I die I am content because
I belong.
About the Creator
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