Sunday, August 27, 2017

Elia Casillas: From the ocean

I do not know where my reality begins, or where the street ends, dawns on my feet Thursday, the last time I saw them was Saturday. I still investigate if the present dream is not Monday, or if this moment did not have antier. I do not know if the oxygen is mine or if I already breathe in the Reed's canefield. Morning. Two days ago. Today: I learned that some people live their death and accompany it with coffee so as not to fall asleep.

Navojoa, Sonora. September / 2/2004

Time flees in my eyes, I can not dream and the body repeats its scents. I'm not the same and I copy every day. Without crossing the door, I do not find myself and assign to the taciturn turn of the earth my ideas. I will not stop at your lighthouse, I ask for another shore, some landing to remind me who I am.


Reynosa Tamaulipas June / 19/2002

And in the white corridor, the crickets love the sweetness of the night. Naturally, like all the bodies that come down from a woman, I swing the lights of my skirt and its olanes. A one step I be  of the planet and I do not reach it.

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