Tell me how you live; simply tell me how to spend your days,
slowest your hatred, your cheerful powders
the confused waves and you have lost
in the changing foam-whiteness unexpected.
Tell me how you live
Come to me, face to face
tell your lies (mine are worse),
phoneresentment (I also suffer),
and that foolish pride (I can understand you).
Tell me how you die.
Nothing Yours is secret
vacuum-nausea (pleasure, are the same);
unexpected madness live a moment;
stubbornly hopeful that the gap deepens .
Tell me how you die,
how resignations sage,
how-frivolous-shine of pure fugitive
and finished in
nothingand teach me, of course, to stay calm.
* This poem by Gabriel Celaya, who has already served his hundred, is that I want to share my joy of the 58 Patricia alcanzan.Con me I hold your hand, as that staff needed to keep the plant upright. With my blood, which often seem to be those of my tears, but fortunately govern my smiles. With that break my silence, and sometimes they leave me speechless.