old machine

old machine cold

nose in the shaggy garden

who never believed

in the human sky

moonlashed

insatiable planetarium

of debris

where memory accumulates

its fury

that blazed in time

with its maps smoking

its ashes

it is the hour

of shattered islands

inside a jar of geography

and the kiss sank

on the path

and the fruit

was full of thirst

because battles

imprisoned in the mouthes

obscured men and women

with the things they become

old machine

passed from one day to another

through the blue nights

twisted arms

luminous mane

from birth

that stone

sheparded from the depths

of dull labors

corn and blood

in the treacherous seedlings

gasping for air in the anxious clay

and the magnetized iron

knives chained together

for the whirling sunset

linked to each furrow

made by the uncountable breaths

old machine

its posture sleeping

like flint in a fire

plunging

its claws into its fur