| Reina María Rodríguez |
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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 simulation. ovation. the melody is mediocre a music blending droning 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 when not otherwise piled together
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