Hombres a los que besé

Chris Pueyo has become a man in this book, although few know that he always was. Only an adult is capable of turning the darkness into a cave in which to take refuge and turn a complicated childhood into a story with which to fall asleep every night. The author, as versatile as his poems, grows into Men whom I kissed at the same rate as his verses do, worked and sought after, compressed in a precision that only the will, effort and effort give. talent. Chris is a writer with all the letters, the same ones that he conjugates to invent verbs that only he knows but that he does not keep, but rather shares with anyone who has the courage to recognize himself in the eyes of another. As if this book were a mirror, Pueyo defends childhood from empathy, shreds every detail of his injury to forgive it, assumes forgiveness without effort as a mandatory step in growth, ventures into structures that are no longer unknown. One sees oneself when reading Men I Kissed. Chris Pueyo has a fundamental advantage to defend his reading: his poems have their own voice. And that voice, which is blue in color and shines above all men, is going to take you to hundreds of wonderful places that we, as readers, are going to enjoy a lot, starting with this collection of poems.