Bolano

Death is an automobile with two or three distant friends.  Faces
I can't forget: cerulean, cold, just one step away from dusk.
Death is an automobile out driving the avenues of Mexico City
uselessly searching for your house: a carbon trail, a carbon
tail, carbon fingers sinking into the darkness.  Death
is R.B. and L.J's lips in the backseat of a minibus: now I know
no one escapes those avenues.  I'll leave it as collateral:
the end of my childhood.



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