ÁNIMA (ghost story)

Ánima

All the letters I wrote encrypted in wi-fi

found their way to the post office,

as the rain recognizes

the gutters of open streets

and vacuous lungs.

When in the orifice in the end

the genetic ventriloquist spoke
in the aroma of petals not fingers

not like an animé

but like a doll

all film regain´d

the stupified flowers of light.

Opened, a regalia

of an ancestral vanilla gleam

washed eyes by aqua marine tears

dream unseen.

The ánima, a specter at the least

walking next to me astride
the pink kites astray in the sky

 in front of solstice waters knelled 

of cajoled streets and talking stoplights

the city cough perspex of skyscrapers
approaching the tangled

entrance of a forbidden tropical cave

in a distant lost pond mirrored;

a floating body asunder asleep,

the last opening blink

of a digital ogre.
And, a small cemetery.

Ánima

by Carlos Mijares Poyer

All the letters I wrote encrypted in wifi

found their way to the post office,

as the rain recognizes

the gutters of open streets

and vacuous lungs.

When in the orifice in the end

the genetic ventriloquist spoke

not like an animé

like a doll

all film regain´d

the stupidied flowers of light.

Open, a regalia

of an ancestral vanilla gleam

washed eyes

dream unseen.

The ánima, a specter at the least

walking next to me in front of solstice waters

of cajoled streets and talking stoplights

the city

entrance of a forbidden cave

in a distant lost pond mirrored

a floating body asunder asleep,

the last opening blink

of a digital ogre.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

#NOTOPLAGIARISM

#NOALPLAGIO

(copyright) (c) carlos mijares poyer, caracas, venezuela, june 2020.