God likes to be played like a piano. Dawn glows with sailors dancing in the eye of a storm by the river of black water. These days things make sense under the green and yellow and brown sky of Granada and I wear a tie as penance for the sins of my navel. The saints of the north and the saints of the south fly by dropping scorpions down my neck and those women with fire in their eyes drink melon juice and wink. I play billiards on the other side of town thinking bone in and bone out is the legacy of canines. The camouflage, the hunt, the war of ice and water. God knows. He clinks all day and night. Fly me to the moon. Yes, I'd rather be sleeping. A slender, tender rain comes over Granada and the storm passes and the city sighs. Copyright © 2017 Pablo Medina. Used with permission of the author. |
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