THE STRANGE LONELINESS OF THE POET

In the bowels of a cafeteria,

a lady invited me to

a dialectical hunt,

In which we talked about lustful ethics

From quantum physics ...

When two poles repel and

of that strange chemistry

of the love that only Fortunato knows.

What a siege of the soul for a

unrequited love!

The edict of a race

That nags me and

throws the spear ...

Towards infinity.

Here in my midnight coffee shop ...

In my hovel at dawn ...

In my gut, I compose the following

collection of pop poems, in which

I tie my shoes, I bind my hands,

I wrap up my legs like the pig or

the lamb with its love-struck eyes

I link the syllables, I hold your truths,

I secure the axiom of uncertainty...

of that which you do not see but do not feel,

that which you pour into my mind.

The girl, the whore so-and-so

that moves my heart.

The loneliest of solitudes is that of the poet

who commits suicide every night and is

reborn in the afternoon in a cafeteria

where he has to sentence and condemn

conspiracies

of a planet that is full of people

that scream freedom and

give a name and a flag...

To the word freedom.

Carlos Chatham June 19th, 2003

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