MARIO MEDINA

DISRUPTIVE THREADS​​

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I am not here.

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I have laid my memories

To sunbathe on the sand,

So I may calmly bite

The branches of my horizons.

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From the mountains rise,

Reddish, dazzling,

The crusts of my fears,

Like tamed, pliant logs.

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The fibers ring sharply

As I weave my choices,

While the rippling wind

Flutters through my thoughts.

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If a dangerous spirit existed,

Capable of causing pain,

I would soothe it with songs

Until my fate turns yellow.
 

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