Simon Anton Diego Baena- 3 Poems

The Night

All the windows are open

In the city of molasses  

Where darkness inhabits 

Every inch of space

Of your dreams

And nightmares

In Burgos street

You may search for fragments

Of your precious memories

Inside the hourglass

There are no blooming flowers 

But only the hypnotic eyes 

Of owls in your room

Staring back at you

As the night blossoms

With poison

Every time you find

Yourself in ashes

In the hole

Of a rusty needle

Space

A dilapidated house

with no portraits nor picture 

frames inundated with cigarettes—

and a growing cancer called 

madness

Conjuncture

You never cease to enjoy: watching how those rain drops fall 

from the swaying leaves, listening to the shrieks of crows 

while dreaming of imaginary landscapes where the light never 

wanes, every time the ash colored sky is wracked by lightning 

and glass windows are shattered by the vibration of its screams 

out here in the garden of ruins as your heart writhes in agony.