Streets
that you inhabit this city
impregnated
of murdered suns
of old mailboxes
footsteps
sneaky.
I know you
for years,
since he was a child
and I was climbing
to the trees in the park.
You were fire
of youth,
a fleeting flash of the moon,
a refuge
for my student woes.
You were soul
and at the same time
hell
full
of passions.
I broke your nights
to blows of words;
poems, lots of verses
converted
in metal birds,
in furtive hugs,
while dreams
flowed
by rivers of underground shadow
towards inexorable nothing.
Streets
that you inhabit this city,
the one that still
try to survive
over the remains
of that last afternoon,
next to the steps
of the cathedral.
Already youth
who does this write about
vanished.
Today,
in that now
of mutilated verses,
consulting
obsessively
the mobile screen,
i notice
of what I really am:
one more digit
on the inescapable screen of the system.