|Reina María Rodríguez|
blades are tired of lifting dust over
these lifeless objects
objects in disuse.exhaling.restlessness.
on a sinuous street an abandoned store
and it's June it's called paradise.
pressed against the window I'm chewing straw
and see nothing specific definable: nothing costly
the point being not to die not to see
a boredom that once pertained to light
stains here and there
no one knows what of.
spent timeworn nothing costly
waiting for a buyer to come: useless garment
my left breast out from under my blouse
there's a whetstone.
the rats watch us, distrust us, watch us
their reddish eyes behind a cardboard box.
items that meant something once
the melody is mediocre a music blending
to complaints from the fan
blades shuddering against themselves. something moves
seems to move.
old lamps old artifice: nothing costly
mirrors only images
the opaque mercury against the eye of a previous object.
we are sick of the performance and the indemnity.
the street sinuous: storefront. monte street. paradise.
setting down the second-hand store that allured me
ok I was looking
but now nothing's antique not even
the proximity of their forms to curb the illusion
among so many objects of no use no destiny
resigned to their silent routine
otherwise piled together