Ciudad de perros románticos
City of romantic dogs,
Frantic, dragging open ribcages through the gravel,
Up the steps of crumbling stairs, peaking out of doors that lead to nowhere,
Lapping up cigarette smoke,
sliding hands across the scars of breathing walls,
Chasing down an ugly heat,
Enraptured by the call of flesh and melted wings
What is peace for romantic dogs?
Are you one of them
Running breathlessly along the cerro circuits,
buscando el fin de locura—
(The end of madness: it looks like you, sighed the urban sprawl)
Do you believe that this is it,
sitting on a bed of ash and 40s left over from the graveyard shift
Staring out at purple buildings, sunken roofs
You still worry about damnation and eternity
Licking at the pomegranate seeds between your teeth.
But nothing here is permanent:
The ships at dock are all submerged
And the churches ringing noon have long been razed,
So when I hold you close and touch your jaw,
It’s because we’ve already parted ways
What is peace for beasts enamored by only buried things,
Who holds the leash—you? The starving arms of the city?
Elbows torn from the endless fight and flight from cycles
Soles bruised by piss-soaked cobblestone,
From scouring the streetlight hours leaving spraypaint proof of life.
Have you hands or claws,
Are you man or dog when being torn apart at night?
When you and I lock eyes we take shape
and remember what it means to exhale,
Before we blink again,
and lose again,
And chase and chase and chase.