I’m on the terrace of the CAB, Burgos Art Center
That looks at the Cathedral’ needles
And a raven appeared to me by chance
Giving a good peck
At the tip of the lover’ s bud
For having fallen asleep
At five in the afternoon
With a dream of Love hands off.
I was well asleep
When, upon awakening by the beak
I jerked him off
Revolting him self very confused and dazed.
I denied him
I swore to pluck the feathers
Whenever I can.
When I saw the Cathedral’s spiers
I found the hairpins that my mother used
To get rid of the worms in the ass
And I blessed her, kissing her a lot
For saving me from that itch
That I bore without meaning to.
My mother showed great feeling
Cursing the worms
Squashing these on a handkerchief.
In the Burgos Art Center
Tired of good books
And mousetrap exhibitions of pictures
In front of the door
On its label where we read CAB
Some rascals have put ahead an “A”
Remaining ACAB.
I baptized the raven
Putting to him the name of Poe
And announcing:
“Better is a crow on hands
That Poe following the crowd”.
