Monday, May 7, 2018

viento mutitudinario

of itching is the gravel
shivered down the alley is your
spine turning in its grave a
bomb spititttts yr chest
corrosion science and a book
gargled out the slack of
dawn your hair asleep
beneath the bed was
itching was a soup of
dust and shattered glass
was the air ausente de
tu piel tu piel transpar
ente sin cerebro mas que
piensa y repiensa que no
recuerda más nombre que
itching picazón was sh
rieking l ight was not hing
recumbered was your
laundry tumbled through a muddy field

o mutitud k abla ñoñerías


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