13 Éxitos que Nunca Oirás: A Serial Poem (Part 1)

In tenth grade, I would have been six years into the future (projected); a story which, despite all indications otherwise, is evocative of the following: sunlight, quarry stones, Wednesday at dinner; a car with cracked leatherette upholstery. A green leaf, wide, the reflection as it falls somewhere near the quarry mouth, it’s been filled with water; it is November. There’s a metaphor in there; it is a soft and gentle flower dying in springtime. It is an empty casket disinterred. The dismay of the forensic examiner.