the plenty comb

leak sneeze door scum

yr half thought slaw up

lit thigh razor lung your

eye slaboration “la crapule

la cocarde” - Daphné Bitchatch

)cara o tormenta( fleas and

rinse ,lunch coagulation s

pin it off yr steep shoe

“Ranger avant de partir,

lier, s'abîmer” - D.B.

reason shorts yr spendless

lung tombeau ou pain de

sand tus uñas melt be

fore the grappled thyntax

useless in wind

“nous nous assommerons de

ces ombres acquittés” – D.B.

mais non mais nom de l'eau

mis ondas mis labios mis

rustless seethings in the landfill

slaw o coagulation

lip o

nom o ombre

sung

flat slug

wind mind coughs

time waits

the weight of time is the lint

burning in your pocket the weight

of time is your hand drowning in

ink the weight of time is the

absence of weight when you

climb the stairs is the spherical

air rising from a mountain

the weight of time is your formal

de-explanation of your shapeless

eyes the weight of time

is the weight of nothing holding

you fast to a chair it's the

waiting for the fog to rise it's

the nails rusting in your

doorframe the weight of time the

weight of time is a sandwich

rising through trees

,turning slowly in the light of a

rising sun

“what is the weight of time?”

- Ivan Argüelles

thaw

is issue storm shirt

calves yr wallet off

dusty knee pain

your hairy wind

unplan your thumb

street's blank bag plastic

folded lip a mask

book of dirty coins

sweat before the wall

a car burns outside

dog ticks under table

eat your spoon

coins

wind bags

milk and sweat

nostril

fleeing stone

lake of laundry

what fell

bbreathe the ffog yr send a

c rust across the ditch the side

walk ends a tree glistens with

ice página congelada de pedidos y

rutas ,de olvidos ininexplicables

,it's the flames fistering on a

stove was shoulder glue mirrors

shattered in a stream your o

pen hand says all upstairs

outside behind garage a

st one a s tone a sto

len ineffulgent concentraction

is what never crawled next

week water rises in the

basement it's your stunning

door your blabber suit is

strings ejecting from yr mouth

stone

fog hand

olvidos del agua

guante y balazo

fragr ant t humb em pieza

lo que sabes tu insnorancia

spat tered en yr chcheek

its glittered text inturbation

no me mames so chin gón

tu entrance stung ,embestida

de mhoscas ,hablahdurías

tu lungate rifle fired and

blind .is help to eat your

bullet hand ? your ton

gue's belching labor

glove a guante pu es the

darkness spelled

itch

inner inch floor

red cloud

itcht

OjOreja

-El título un dibujo de Aaron Flores

)))tune of the urine? a

mouth outside time

's beastly inch yr fin

ger's smoke ~ ~ ~ ))in

yr shoulder an ear list

ens sucks the migrainless

letters mindless as a hat sp

eaks backword in a shoe

((( )forgetting Ivan Argüelles'

“immortality”( ((((( pill chain

yr slab fork des

sication raised toward

dark wet clouds were eyes

thick with waving grass if

,when speaks your sphere of

itch and crawling door ,was

blammo truck ,creeps an

burning tires ,if road were s

inks if chairs were hats if fish w

ere chains if sweat uh wind if sk

in baloney were yr might have

mute have dung apes sh

ouldered in the weeds )were

weeds the B rush to E ))nor

be soggy cheetos on the steps(( (

inductive

spork condensation

can't see floor

FEET ACROSS THE VOID

irrig ate

grow and sting

shiny faucet

it's yr neck's a

muddy hose

left over

antacid of my funneled eye yr

outer short vests my

towel and bbriefcase ,short the

eye sites long a severed inch

yr drunken chair falls off off

,it's ham and ice ,blanket cr

usted with yr lamp was broke

next week ,stomach lined with

lint .if the voted gun thrown

in a gut ter woke if the

am munition jangled in yr

pocket if the ear enters

an eye ,tastes yr fumes

and blooded rug yr lunch

crawls down a throat yr

claw it up if if if was

n or sewer spoke below the floor

El traje que vestí mañana...

- César Vallejo

ranas que me comen los dedos

Gracias a Bibiana Padilla Maltos

Jane Flury, y Geof Huth

laundry foot redejection )el agua de

mi ser hecha cascajo – Mario Santiago

Papasquiaro( azeite de los ojos que

no ven in atl el sueño del coco es un

banco con zapatos siniestros los zap

atos un mall de américa que se llena

de agua tu clown leg drips tu libro o

pens to a bag of garbage peels bott

les oily socks tongue depressors

)“le mond'eau” - G.H.( el mar que

mondas ,mundo sin forma en el

cecentroro del lago stones smoking

on the island where yr washing burns yr

dream of a volcán es tu cara pressed a

gainst a head of lettuce es el sol a

hogándose en el mar tina en donde

se beben mis piernas mis pie

rnas que tantean su meta ultimada

“eauvoir” – G.H.

multitud ahogada

meat and faucets

up

s pan p

lug g age

step reflection

break a hand

le leave

explaint

blip b lip

bli p n

ates an cor n

reel nobby

eck glassy

spit it out

dab ,fog ,cry

shoulder wind

slab ,wet ,fly

said dead

glue said

said sed

nno te rajes

boil my nose

luggage ,soup

afflamation

grimbandation

it wha t t

mirror or lexicon

can part he as cold now

had man we too old one

are hand she not fast small

are fly you but bare hard

fly stop ran time start

man told walk eye taste the

leg did smell this face

walk live which lap ate came

if no us on of work

where from him the at foot

where baby them some for beast

hear which hate eye ran saw but

its soft fly a foot laugh leg

small

bare fly

cold foot ran

que sea descabezado

“the pilot light was still on”

- Ivan Argüelles

a tunnel's twisted lips a tree f

alling from the mouth's

your pocket of stones and

green coins a hole grows d

own yr leg empties into yr

buried shoe hohle hohhle hohhhle

said “climb the border wall

kiss the bomb on top”

tunnel

glove stones

burn the shoe

)mis libros son labios mis

labios lagos desbordándose

en el regazo donde se

caen mis ojos piedras

redonditas que se me

ven la ceguera ¡ qué

paisaje más bucólico más

letargado ! como el

sueño sin sueño OLVIDO

SIN OLVIDO )el sueño del

poema es un jardín de

senderos bifurcantes es

el helado de fresas y arena

con las nubes grises que se

revolotean lentas sobre la ciudad ( (

En un bosque muy espeso,

Apartado del lugar.

- Romance del Marques de Mantua

Bust of Tlaloc

dim neck yr squalid g

asoline ,if air were oil ,a

crust the road yr leg f

lops on ,or rabbit swim

ming in a ditch ,where laun

dry wavers in fallen

wwind or brreath's g rime

,when clocks re verse ,st

inking in a tree your head

's st ormed ,aimed be

hind a bb urning hat a slo

gan's corn bustion loss ,drip

ping down your shirt

or buttoned skin

ne ck

c lock g rime

e at y our s kin