How To Change The Lens Holga

Inevitably

Although the first rule for uploading blog entries is to avoid reciting first person singular and added to it, I hate (and breaks the first rule above) that when someone dies everyone will take a publication, a nick, a state facebook, etc., as if they were always necessary and also no one could talk strongly desire to be in tune . Certainly encuéntranse here than one might imagine: the cries of a fan for the death of Mario Benedetti. Epithets aside rhetoric and convoluted that many could write better than one, the reason for evoking Benedetti is simple: very few guts shake me like him does not interest me your resume, or that is moment's notice , nor add words, simply the engine tonight despite starting the no intention of a farewell.
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Invisible Mario Benedetti

Death is waiting
she knows what winter
although I
not know
why she and I
barricades
Stevedores sacrifices
reborn in the embrace
forest estate that no one
recognizes that there
invention
my fires burning in these reports
corkscrew Smoke
that goes into the sky

by that she and I put

doubts and screens as backdrops mists

pretexts and foliage embankments of guilt
curtains of innocence

so until the bulwark
of things in my life is
treacherous death delete
remove it from my eyes
hide and suppress the
Me and my memory

meanwhile

she hopes

Cartoon (self) Mario Benedetti in Poetry with young