Love, as Léon Bloyd tells us about beauty, is also a monster. In this book of poetry, which is a river-poem, "the monster of love tearing apart the tree of life" plows through obsessively, the drama of the man who can no longer look at the hands of God. If, for Rubens, the intense red color on the background of lead whites demonstrated all of passion's terrestrial force between Samson and Delilah, for Julio Antonio Molinete, his weapons of war are those that built the story serving as the basis of the poem: verses. Here, they flow with secret authority, with the calm full of shreds following the storm. Every page leaves us with resounding verses like "Come to me, so that death will make a man of me, / and she takes the form of my hands." With this book, the author moves away from the worn channels of current Cuban poetry, from its colloquialism in rags and the marginality of a time destined to die.-Alberto Garrido
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