Read this in Spanish
The Church wanted me to write sermons
demonizing pleasure. Journalism,
to write reports without ancestralia.
They wanted me to narrate any identity,
except my own. Machines with rusty steel
dreamed of erasing me with ink
dipped in their cis paper.
And meanwhile, the theaters, harbored me
in their silence. The cold of an empty stage
was a enby vortex, where all is everything
it desires.
Exodus newsroom
Exodus pulpits.
Genesis free.
I bite the beauty of not dying
by their hands
and in their arms.