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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My old lady dropped a needle From the cloth she was sewing A fart of zaracatan or tailor's fart buzzed That, in the silence of the afternoon Made me flee quickly from the sewing room. The news from an old radio, Iberia brand That my old man listened to very attentively Made me stop in the dining room Because it announced that because of fashion Because of use and with dead dictator teachers They want to implant sacred fascism As if this were something new Because since time immemorial It appears in congresses and senates And in all the processions of the temples. -Old man, I said to him. The feast of sacred fascism And sacred communism Is the feast of the innocent peoples murdered. All their governments Are governments that allow crimes and deaths Chairs allow. He reprimanded me saying: -Don't talk nonsense, scoundrel. The universal history of human understanding It proves it well: That the unbelievers, morons and deluded Dictators and serial killers Have great appreciation. I left home. And, in the street I stumbled With a man who, by his appearance Seemed to be taken from a winter's tale Perhaps from the G. Adolfo Bécquer’s “Miserere” Who, when spitting towards the sky Almost the spit fell on my head From this idiot. He spoke to me, and said to me asking: -What do you think about the fact that from America We get a sacred fascist Donkey Whoreman and multimillionaire? I answered him sarcastically: -It's not a donkey, it's an old bulldog A waterman who takes fountain pens And colored and black pencils Who has made a cologne With the smell of donkey sperm That if you put it in your hair Will give you the glow, fire, flame Of his carrot head. -Apparently, he answered me They have made it to their taste and whim A vihuela or guitar Supposed machine for making money For the use of criminals Well, he wants to imitate the Argentine lighter Who, with his chainsaw Wants to saw the hole that fits Between the legs of men Especially women Who follow him and adore him.
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