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"Beautiful Boy! I am doomed"


by P.R. Mercado


Beautiful boy! I am doomed
to have attended your presence;
     time consumes us, but you
     have changed so little, your eyes
     have changed so little, the way
     you are compelled to touch me
     whenever you ask permission to leave
     the table because you must buy cigarettes.
     You treat me like a girl--with a beard, like
     from a circus. 

Why do you treat trash so kindly? I cannot sleep.
I remember you always: As I watch the telephone lines
split the tide of the rolling clouds during merciless
Sundays of solitude and contemplation, as I drink
coffee at the head of the table in misguided midnights,
as I watch the waving of the trees in the tropical wind
and as if leaving the Earth, I wave back:
   Good bye! Good bye! I walk toward the wilderness
   of wild beasts who will burst my guts onto the ground
   and leave me a broken torso and separated limbs, so
   good bye!
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