stung of time

- For CMB

finger dead born

final pair of

pants appeared

a single thunder

snow to be was

black spools or

watches anchored

pools of stones

you never said a

word you never

drank the insects

seated at the

marble game the

numbers numbers

clock no sound no

beery sweat ru

nning down a glass

mute palms itchy

thumbs smear your

afternoons sleeping

restless at the table

las pintas que te dicen nonada

Panicked in the grass of

Ivan Argüelles' “Cerveza Negra”