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