Songs from the Second Floor

Stumble between two stars

There are people so wretched, that they don't have
even a body; quantitative hair,
below, in inches, the genial grief;
the way, on high;
don't look for me, molar of oblivion,
they seem to emerge from air, to add sighs mentally, to hear
light whips on their palates!

They leave the skin, scratching the sarcophagus in which they are born
and rise through death hour by hour
and fall, along their gelid alphabet, to the ground.

Aie of so much! aie of so little! aie for them!
Aie in my room, hearing them with lenses!
Aie in my throrax, when they buy suits!
Aie of my white dirt, in its combined dregs!

Beloved be the sanchez ears,
beloved those who sit down,
beloved the stranger and his wife,
the neighbor with sleeves, neck and eyes!

Beloved be the one who has bedbugs,
the one who wears a torn shoe in rain,
the one who keeps vigil over the corpse of bread with two matches,
the one who catches a finger in a door,
th one who doesn't have birthdays,
the one who lost his shadow in a fire,
the animal, the one who seems a parrot,
the one who seems a man, the poor rich,
the pure miserable the poor poor!

Beloved be
the one who is hungry or thirsty, but has no
hunger with which to satisfy his thirst,
no thirst with which to satisfy all his hungers!

Beloved be the one who works daily, nightly, hourly,
the one who sweats from pain or shame,
that one who goes, ordered by his hands, to the movies,
the one who pays with what he lacks,
the one who sleeps on his back,
the one who no longer recalls his childhood; beloved be
the bald one without a hat,
the just one without thorns,
the thief without roses,
the one who wears a watch and has seen God,
the one who has one honor and doesn't fail!

Beloved be the child, who falls and still cries,
and the man who has fallen and no longer cries!

Aie so much! Aie of so little! Aie for them!