Simple sonnets

The impermanence of memory

No sacrifices, no initiations, no poems,
neither those you & nbsp; inspired, & nbsp; not & nbsp; will,
there will be no & nbsp; darkness & nbsp; on the & nbsp; bottom of my pupils,;
in chills fall ignorant people.

Chills and fever will have to be abolished
and take off the costume of a vagrant & nbsp; tales of wanderings:
all the scenes are played, & nbsp; and & nbsp; the curtain is closed,
in the theater of memory, there was an impermanence.

The game broke the past & nbsp; spine,
as & nbsp; wet & nbsp; linen, & nbsp; hung on & nbsp; branches,;
the ending of the story itself came down on & nbsp; no,
a & nbsp; aftertaste & nbsp; spits something & nbsp; acrid.

The spirit gave up & nbsp; dead & nbsp; dial:
don & nbsp; Salvador & nbsp; lied – & nbsp; road & nbsp; no & nbsp; back.