Wednesday, January 18, 2017


fire at convection ,east
the fleet your corner
lost ,stupid glue or
sawdust drifting on a
lake ,la sombra
negra del volcán al
otro lado where my
eyecloud shifts
,rises from the water
apt to boil ,yr shoe
yr compact sock and
tongueless lost yr
feet just “walk” a
cross the halted edge of sleep

Sueño el que foñamos. Quela
con ñijxicàla pecàla.
- Juan de Cordoua, 1578


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