Este envoltorio de carne

que apresa al espìritu,

este disfraz falible,

finito, vulnerable,

este saco de apetitos

pasible de b ajezas

animales,

esta maravillosa

máquina de tendones,

músculo y osamenta,

¿no será, justamente,

nuestra verdadera

identidad?

vw 3/4/08

¿No será

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 14th, 2008 at 6:58 am and is filed under Poesía. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.