Los hermosos vencidos

Un cuento de poetas

I played my part well.
I kept my smiles hidden,
I was the smoking gun in the background
Of the photo, I had a whiskey shot
For every night I spent alone
Piazzola playing for me
With no confession for the priest,
With a skin to remove
Little by little, in every word I type.

I played my part well.
It was a fanfare of shadows,
A dazzling collection
Of bitter stars, sad endings
And roads to the horizon,
A joke that turned me
Into the skinless monster
That drags his intestines on the stage
And ruins the celebrations
Of other perfect men.

And even though I learned by heart
Each note of the devil’s solo,
This is not what I wanted:
And so I dream, a house by the sea,
Some castle in a cloud
With nightingales and robins
Bright red in the break of day
As I play my guitar in the balcony
And sing creation’s majesty.

No loud music on the radio,
No sleepless dust in corners,
No wine-stained curtains
In the windows of my wound.
Just a simple line, a brushstroke
Of corny, ingravid metaphors,
To hold the weight of infinite stars
Against the mad machinery of time.