I choose

I choose the night scarred with steel and glass,
the pulsating salt of your best flesh,
I choose sacrilege, the ululating tongue that,
amidst an uncontrollable shake,
tries to fathom the coming century.

I choose pagan blood, the mask of the judge,
the suffering of reason,
the dark rooms with a view.
I choose abnegation but not work,
endless farce, salvation, yes, but from what?

I choose foreing dishes, the languages and dances
that are strange to me. I'd rather ignore the timezone
that constrains my existence.
I choose to sleep only under the stupor of abandonment.
Only that way might the light arrive.

I choose mutilation, showcase of determination,
I choose to look the deformity of the universe in the eye,
I am jealous of fire and black holes.
I've set my mind on howling, like a fearsome madman,
on the streets from inside a car.

I don't choose to change life or leave like it is,
or recovering the manners of a gentleman or a crusader.
I fall for the worst promises and stranded dreams,
the worst paint job ever carried out,
the heads wrapped in the shroud of the flower of futility.

I choose to bathe in beaches of past centuries,
deserted noons, the village wine,
the traditional abysses, the fields at night,
the cock's crowing that surprises
the drunkard and the lustful equally.

I choose laughter, farewell, the dive into the sea,
the visions meant for the chosen few,
the boarding tickets to mapless places.
I choose the gob, the circular fleeing under the rain,
worms in the talk, blasphemy.

I choose to revolt, but not in the way
you want, as you know nothing.