The World of Myth Magazine

Che Guevara died on the left crossroad in broad daylight. I
loved his right tepid toe, laid down upon a plank. I
saw him on the Discovery Channel, thirty years later.
If Che Guevara survived there and would have died later
in right returning
under a red lorry, still I would have loved him
because I read his letter to his children Hildito,
Aledita, Camilo, Celia and Ernesto. My eyes shared
the scene on the windowsill, The red brook was
taking a rapid course, left and right and

a gust of wind on my writing board
picked off every letter,
I am facing my effaced slate, fondling
the tiny tweet,
amid bickering of Kafka’s bureaucrats.

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