Podophyllotoxins. Our secret dreams
Surviving as someone else’s painless nightmares
Unable to be realized by one own
Under no epithelium
And for which no needle or diameter
Is enough for telescopic theorizations
Of the future.
Ornidazole. For the initiators of dualism
For all those who are conditional
Those who hold the yoke without a scarf
And for those who do not forget how to wear it
Ignoring the spots and the gray donation.
For them the victory podium
Only has two spots.
Tetracyclines. Heirs of romantic times
When the complication of the trivial
Was absinthe and roses and condemnation
And wounds beyond the heart and chills
The missteps of the heir
The one with teeth that tasted the moon
From the start.
Phenol. For every souvenir
Every little sign of battle.
Eccentric medals shinning in the dark
White, a parody of tradition and purity
For those whose memories are prey
And, who, like in wild tribes with spears of wood,
Cotrimoxazole. For the soft days
Our small, shared common points
At the edges of our worlds, which longed for
The dawn is still far, not like then
But the motors of lust and white skin
They are still entangled.
Erythromycin. For the glory of hot days
Still boiling in the groin of the abuser
Light pain, suited for good memories.
Time never healed anything except life
And all the hidden reminders, sooner or later
Expand – and our hidden holds
Ticonazole. For everyone present
For ubiquitous patrons
Those who never made an appointment
But they found you
For the simple, the given
For those who lived in your warmth
For all those who did not rise
Because they were not supposed to.
Interferons. For the living
Who bit the cup with every sip
For those who did not desire walls or resistance
Who stand unarmed in front of a thousand faces
For those who see hope as yet another word
And who regularly and painlessly
Are synonymous with the end.