mirror ,steam

chews un negck an c hews

at what ,it's tumba tatumba

,shady lung renamed a fork

.peeler wind ,wallowed dark the

sun yr clinging honey in the al

phabet alfabetoide or rinsing

the hot garbage pail its textural

seeds stunk and handed cough

the last bright orange .it blew

next Thursday or not a

breathless storm ,or was ,a

loomed plunge toward un alma

arenosa ,tela de dientes

fútiles mas sin embargo

.your distant phone your

osseous shaving of the lumination

...el agua

que surtiera de todos los fuegos.

- César Vallejo