(Polyphonic Natura)
A
Constance
not find the hand that I write. Will be saying farewell to the winter with his hat that hides a given dwelling, sealing a deal with the time with a handshake or caressing of your body since yesterday. Behind the words there cloches, and within children playing hide and seek. They mean nothing. Smugglers hide in secrecy as Dreams and Magic. Play dress up when it cries pierced the cloud by the sword of the sun to light a cigarette, or forbid you run out and my shadow behind me, to play the yellow and green marbles and catch butterflies in a jar so over placebo as the Sagrada Familia, Miró, Dalí, Malevich , or orgasm. Maybe
doing finger and stopped a van full of fireflies and cicadas landing exchanging kisses by applause in the slums of seals on a ball that ran away from home, always attentive to the traffic lights in amber, but with what voluptuousness burn your hair, and those lips like yours sweet grapes, plump as a sip of light, unforgettable Like a glass of wine under the stars that pulsate against a black sea accordion spring night. Perhaps with his fist raised in a general strike for the rights of wheelchairs, or with the peace sign in front of military barracks of boredom empty chair. Anyone knows, is an expert in capturing shooting stars and the same would have been arrested and are clocking their fingerprints. What will become of me! Not return to an alliance, or zero rapen me ..
was born on the door has been touched. To look back is to leave a snitch. Always write a sentence crossed out at the time. Nobody knew what it was. He would hang himself, but then for a little while would the owner, and he did not bear. No, no ..
The Silence of the residence is impossible defiled by the God who never lets you talk, so big and strong you are. How I love you! But how! You are more of us. Diminishes us, return the child to viudeces, uterus, not wedding, the circle that is everything.
When you look at the situation of moving around the corner from the left or right, you've noticed, you choose the former, which makes you feel strangely left-handed, if you get to something. By the way, what is to come? Would Ya?
Because I have 30 odd years and more, and I got in your eyes and lips and blood fall, breasts and hands, soles and tximbos; your belly and thighs moon rose and streams, your legs and feet, clouds without a homeland. This is just one more paragraph, it hurts it hurts in your ceiling that never sleeps and dreams of all forms in your work.
They say no, no, no, and not, period
the last word, whatever, to stop writing, to make love with the blade, which fornicate like animals, be myself. Do not say anything, do not understand. And if they succeeded and there is not a pot of December in the amount of mirrors, or areas that do not stop rolling in the air, or migratory birds that warn us that we are what we are, that we step like them.
Beloved be the Alphabet, it is, and everyone. Dreams are loved, they are. Beloved are the tears of victory are. Beloved secrets, confidences, Beloved. Beloved are the lovers, are provided. And these words are Amadas Clerk, to my regret, that not have all the time, for what dictates Laicono, Soul. Boarding
-G19
(Thanks to Mike Varas)
doing finger and stopped a van full of fireflies and cicadas landing exchanging kisses by applause in the slums of seals on a ball that ran away from home, always attentive to the traffic lights in amber, but with what voluptuousness burn your hair, and those lips like yours sweet grapes, plump as a sip of light, unforgettable Like a glass of wine under the stars that pulsate against a black sea accordion spring night. Perhaps with his fist raised in a general strike for the rights of wheelchairs, or with the peace sign in front of military barracks of boredom empty chair. Anyone knows, is an expert in capturing shooting stars and the same would have been arrested and are clocking their fingerprints. What will become of me! Not return to an alliance, or zero rapen me ..
was born on the door has been touched. To look back is to leave a snitch. Always write a sentence crossed out at the time. Nobody knew what it was. He would hang himself, but then for a little while would the owner, and he did not bear. No, no ..
The Silence of the residence is impossible defiled by the God who never lets you talk, so big and strong you are. How I love you! But how! You are more of us. Diminishes us, return the child to viudeces, uterus, not wedding, the circle that is everything.
When you look at the situation of moving around the corner from the left or right, you've noticed, you choose the former, which makes you feel strangely left-handed, if you get to something. By the way, what is to come? Would Ya?
Because I have 30 odd years and more, and I got in your eyes and lips and blood fall, breasts and hands, soles and tximbos; your belly and thighs moon rose and streams, your legs and feet, clouds without a homeland. This is just one more paragraph, it hurts it hurts in your ceiling that never sleeps and dreams of all forms in your work.
They say no, no, no, and not, period
the last word, whatever, to stop writing, to make love with the blade, which fornicate like animals, be myself. Do not say anything, do not understand. And if they succeeded and there is not a pot of December in the amount of mirrors, or areas that do not stop rolling in the air, or migratory birds that warn us that we are what we are, that we step like them.
Beloved be the Alphabet, it is, and everyone. Dreams are loved, they are. Beloved are the tears of victory are. Beloved secrets, confidences, Beloved. Beloved are the lovers, are provided. And these words are Amadas Clerk, to my regret, that not have all the time, for what dictates Laicono, Soul. Boarding
-G19
(Thanks to Mike Varas)
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