Time
ambush us from time in the time we licked the scars, time will camouflage and betrays us,
time and we break the shell of every hour ...
What will be the destination shelter is the sun at eclipse?
be out of the chalk circle drawn by yourself in the space / time? You would like to evict
inside and out,
window shades start giving your soul
and your skin will sprout a vine that completely cover
and that these questions were unanswerable
and you were safe as the contents of a box that says FRAGILE.
"Like a flower of recycled paper where there had written a suicide note"
you said but it was more than that,
was as if the snakes will eat your skin back to abandoned ...
After Al was a matter of time,
time and your arms breaking the shell of each hour
endless hours climbing skyscrapers is the fire escape
because the roof heard a voice say it's our damn voice
pyromaniac, damn voice in flames, damn your voice ...
"I would be another, different," you said, "tie the geometry in my moles,
like a magician escapist get out of these chains and latches that lock me in the face. "
A surgeon from a vantage point deep precipice see your flesh enslaved
and draw a square with lines on your face, and
anesthesia and with a scalpel and technology to enhance cheekbones
and sleeping in a bed with you and with your signature on paper just in case ... Six months
pendulum dumb moves in silence with onomatopoeia unrecognizable,
six months time and ours, and endless hours and bands ...
And the cells of skin and bones built years ago
empty and someone comes to your eyes and scream, "Yo, This, superego!
and returns the voices echo as if nobody cares,
as if throwing an empty bottle from a floor 18
and broke into pieces on the street
and those who pass will only parts broken and look up to see a face,
the face of the insane, an alien face, just to confirm that it was not them ... You will
this and be all and you will no
interior corridors running through a chessboard wet wet
semen rain, whiskey, tears, white spirit, and drive out
your wig in the mirror because nobody touches my hair,
because you discovered that love is not precious stone is placed between the sheets
not to sleep alone in that battlefield and lost ...
endure much longer the peach pit in the lion's mouth?
Yes, the time and we, and the lion and peach, and the puddle of blood ...
time butchers us, we removed the skin, eat the pulp and throws the leftovers of lions,
and waiting on the shore and the rocks waiting for waves and choking and
back into the sea but the waves revive and return to shore and die again and again reborn,
and us and them and lips of the shaking statues of poets,
bite not to say that before now were wave and carved stone at the request of the municipality and are
eat bread crumbs to pigeons in the squares,
those pigeons that were once bread without feathers and wings
and are now thought cannibals and are frightened for themselves and want to be different, be different,
but no output in this alley of mutilated flesh
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