Vincenz Serrano



remember him because he is a statue, because he was the subject of a poster, because of his much­awaited arrival following an unhappy departure. Kiss me in a room with a marker that says this place is a venue for big events and grand aspirations. The new is really the longing to be new. I cast a shadow in the corner of a mirror next to the chair near the dressing table by door, ajar, leading to another room: if you really loved me you would switch off the bedside lamp. A souvenir, a postcard, a photograph, hulls of sunken ships jutting out of water’s surface: relics of experience. The harsh sunlight softens after passing through capiz. This story arrived when I found time away

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