Postal de otoño

La primera postal del otoño
no va a nadie más que a mí.

La primera postal del otoño
es la última de estas hojas.

La primera postal del otoño
me regresa el habla y la palabra.

La primera postal del otoño
lleva mi nombre sin letras.

La primera postal del otoño
está viva y ya no está.

La estación, no el andén.

Siéntate a esperar 

por los fantasmas

con los fantasmas.

Anti-poem of the (Bad) Sea [no photo]

How does one stop becoming an island
if all circumstances
keep lapping
at your body
if all the words
keep surrounding you
if all the ideas
forget how to swim
out and away
if all the insults
come to die
on your shores
and beyond
those shores
everything
has become
dark
and
revulsive
revolving
revolting?

Recurring dream

This is not my picture.  In fact, I "borrowed" it from here.

This is, however, the setting of a dream that returns over and over.

This is not just an ordinary school on that island of Never Forward.

This is where the great minds of my generation wrote the finest adolescent poems, if any adolescent poem can be called fine, and if you pardon my bias.

This is the place in which a very young Alexis Romay sought refuge from "the uniform." 

In this place I cried, I laughed, I loved, I fell in lust, and met my best and oldest friend.

I cannot stop this dream from coming back. Yet, this place is so far behind, so removed from what I am now, from where I am now.

Is it?