blanket Daniel Díaz (Havana, 1970)
cage I bought a cage, a common wire cage and stick, and hung on the porch with nothing inside. Nothing: no birdseed, no water, no bird prey. Just move the cage, a cage that slowly corrode the sun, rain, ignore the apathy of seasons of its existence. I bought the cage and hung up, and sometimes when I peered to see the gap between their bars, it was as if he saw the time there, still life, without color, without form.
disciplines the dog the dog
Disciplines three times per week: words of command said in a tone rather dry, administer punishment and rewards according to precise rules. All the love is summed up in one meal a day-dog-food and a pat on the head, without excess. In return, the dog lies down, sits, runs to fetch the stick that you throw to the approving eyes of your judges, these anonymous judges who will discipline three times per second.
question forms
there ways very kind to exclude,
justifications and arguments are a million arguments
to question the outburst, the excluded prickly response. There are smart ways
request its integration, sacrifice
your spirit to accept the blows.
In certain circumstances, when appropriate, there are ways
very tender and apparently kicking the victim.
The guilt and the truth often sometimes a rhetorical question,
a matter of form.
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