Martin Harrison I am one of your reader with new arrival accent.
I am political prisoner from Chile.
We are lost in the city
even the birds consume the charity.
My heart doesn’t fly anymore.
I have got a comfort cage to spent time and obligations.
Happiness is a homeless without a park to sleep
To be able to dream it is it very expensive matter.
So much already vanished, you said
muchas cosas ya han desaparecido.
Martin Harrison I am telling you I am one of your reader
if I am not writing in my tongue it will vanished/desaparecer
the smell of my childhood I only taste in my dream.
I feel I grow up as a native tree in this city
I don’t understand your language
Your accent is an electric saw
bark and body into pieces.
My place is here on earth
And I can see the sky as a river
where my leaves jumped it as fish
and where seeds became stones
playing the melodies of silence.
Disforestation of this time across my ancient roots.
I am your reader Martin Harrison
I inhabitant of new vowels and consonants
From Pablo Neruda and Lionel Fogarty
as an ecosystem of life and death to share in this earth.