Conjuncture

by Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena

Darkness enters

through the windows

of my dilapidated room

dripping with petals of venom,

like the Hashashins of old

in Persia and Syria.

And I welcome it

with open arms. Again

I want this atmosphere

to remain morbid

with no color

of rainbows:

this house, this street,

this city,

this cathedral of bones.

As the night begins

with a parade

of cigarettes and shadows,

I seek

the skull

hidden beneath

the pallid skin.