when the revolution started
they killed him
he was a poet
you must kill
all the poets and writers
when a revolution starts
we don't always know
where the poet's and writer's
sensibilities lie
they shot a lot
on the side of a road
it is simple to do you see
after he was dead
all sides mourned him
we persecuted
the commander
who had him shot
*
on the road between
alfacar and the village of víznar
the day was splendid
hearts beating faster
a humming bird flashed by
stomach full of nectar
humans loved by god
slowed to the roadblock
the hummingbird loved by god
over the ridge to a tree
and rested
*
how big is the mind of god
---
for
Lorca
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