A veces, uno tiene que encontrarse con su negativo, en otro sitio. Soy Elia Casillas, egresada de la Escuela de Escritores del Sur de Sonora. Nadie es Poeta en su tierra.
Saturday, March 25, 2017
11/11/11: Elia Casillas
In the inspiration of the night with the amber leaves childbirth in the ambush of the thought The dust accumulates in the lines and breaks the cover of the forgetfulness Night obsession dances in the aileron of the memory and between the furrows of my letters the becoming of the ashes Blue tide in the burnt hours of the fingernails In the center of these pages the scent of his images do not groan in the fire that calls him Awake and I can go to happiness dressed in red and no one would know that my heart rises in a society of plastic Docile in the cushions the present and the legs are burned in the enthusiasm of this body The mosquitoes parade in the perfume of a lady and I go in my little flame shake the hips to return There is pain in the streets and stunned there is party in the hell of the things that still look at us