Not so Generous.

Well
someone throwed us in a mire
of sadness and misery
and to palliate
our pain
he gave us different geners,
sleep
and small brakes of happiness.

Walking.

Questions from silence,
silence from questions.
Questions from mouths,
mouths from faces,
faces from people,
people from other people,
people,
talking and breathing,
their words and ideas
lost in the rails of the air,
air swarmed with
bad breaths,
drunkness,
darkness,
bad mouths,
bad teeth,
bad languages,
quotations in bars,
screams from black people,
knives from thieves,
gunshots and essays,
empty school yards,
golden rolexes,
fancy clothes,
shiny oh so shiny cars,
suits with ketchup on them,
cigarette factories hence
madness and profit,
alcohool hence
scenarios with dismembered bodies
and broken families,
smiles hence cowards.
Hands in pockets,
warm and sweaty,
humor in the brain of the busdriver,
busdriver in a empty bus,
dawn,
little sunshines,
little sunrises
and huge sunsets.
Knights on horses that are dying from hunger,
waving and laughing at beliefs,
spears through politeness's chest,
spears through fire,
spears through webs of critics.
Fire for fire.
Loneliness in its crown.
Couples dead.
Charm burried.
This is it,
the shadow on the wall,
your only friend,
in this alley.