Cassandra

Her lips are petrified:
she lost the prophecies
and the reflex of the reflexes.
She is the disciple of the stones
renouncing the rhythm of Rilke,
intoxicated by the experience
of metamorphosis and violence.

Entangling and repelling passion,
she abandons words in the convexity
of a mad world with no sense at all.

I am like her three hours before three hours,
as I exchange two minutes of poetry for oblivion.

Karla Bardanza
http://asmoonsewsthesatinstars.blogspot.com