Ugly are the winter buildings covered in underwear.

Beneath, rats squeal and scurry
by the roaches which line the sewer walls
above shit filled water splashing over dams
of rotted refuse, plastic planes and broken glass.

Here, at the end of the world
is a gallery of spring painted in bright lines of blue.
Their swirls of new life snake around the rusted pipes
and ascend from the mountain tops of trash.
They draw strength from the discarded and grow in the glow of darkness.

Here, buried in bacteria is la primavera.

One day it will seize and free the city
and lead the people to the sun of summer.
Its shoots will broaden the vision of the streets
and shower gifts upon the forgotten.
Its blossom will flower in the squalid cracks
and replace our tired aesthetics with the glorious concepts of the new.

Hasta la primavera, para siempre.