Draining Washing Machine Outside

Dawn in New York

Dawn in New York has four columns of mire

and
hurricane of black pigeons splashing in putrid waters.

Dawn in New York groans on enormous fire escapes

searching between the angles
nard of anguish.

Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because there is no tomorrow and hope are impossible:
sometimes furious swarming coins
drill and devour abandoned children.

The first to leave
know in their bones that there will be no paradise or loves leaves;
know they will be mired in numbers and laws,
to mindless games, in fruitless labors.

Light is buried under chains and noises
in impudent challenge of rootless science.
by the suburbs sleepless people stagger
as fresh from a shipwreck of blood.

Federico García Lorca

LE Aute
Loquillo y Enrique Morente