From train to paintings I travel cities blank Each stop I see seems suspicious for canvas I have my doubts yet no one notices or no one cares that I draw all that in secret Handcrafted letters like a sculpture given to failure in the mid-century Portraits ordered by ink lips for ladies, hair for rotten men People stuck together on the same tracks Invisible paint standing on my single piece of wood drafting mental facts that one thing art is meant to follow Poema Emilio Quiroz