For Beatrice

Little Miss Smarty Pants

Have you seen your

Siamese Twin in the light

of the dawning of an

enervating age

of life without tanks

and love without rocks

to steer by?

Smugglers draw you

on their torch

while she hides her

face from the receivers

of cargo without knowing

that it takes a lot of time

to make it to the end

where the light stops

and her gaze sees you

in the papers about the rioting

of life against the impoverishment

of spirit that deigns to wander

about the nights and asks how

to open doors without touching?


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