Mercury Rx
To escape the depression that is
the realization of what is not and has gone
I mix and deposit in a glass
tall, from a bar, the glacial era
without straits of ormuz,
which I foresee arriving
to the marvelous tropics
of the lost Woodstock, A cocktail of pain
of spiced flavor And if the future is foreseen
I prefer it erased, with the
useful, useless objective,
it will soon be seen,
of being able to be modified.
I draw the neurotransmitters,
the little hat on top,
the synapses await
I choose dopamine
and a pinch of serotonin
a mint leaf,
because the ice is already there,
And I argue to the heavens, to the gods
who seem to me crazier,
more deaf:
Let the mission come, then
Neptune in Scorpio,
before I lose the urgency, the recipe
that I invented for coherence within myself
Which I prefer to the afflicted dissection of life
and to the damned stagnation.
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