Waste

I started from scratch,

forging a new life

carving machines out of

a wild place, wolves

knocking at the gates

and boars as large

as trucks, in hoards

restlessly caressing the wasteland

of chairs that were 

trees. While this wretched

place sleeps, I hear

howling over the mechanic

lullaby and the clamor

of coal and lumber

ablaze. The colored smoke,

our gift to God

Still, the burning stench

is as permanent as

the ants that watched

me obliterate everything beautiful

Reviews

[Yari Garcia (Older Prof..]

Your poetry is truly amazing.

[p.kuhl]

thanks yaritza =) i like yours too.