Window
I get up and go to the window.
Nurses
lower taxes while the kids are looking for a father in the street, where asphalt and old
curious
pebbles are moved remembering the war.
So scarce human race, pink
synthesis of Capital. And it was already in Mississippi
ships Strive
of ancestral mists spread on bread,
Po was that you wanted to dream
white and sweet winter
which dampens the noise of the Popes in hell skirts.
You are a builder and I North, tired hands that caress
an eyelash fell beyond the mirror.
Better not exist, that a thousand times
expect a smile.
League, Green Cross of urgency, in the pile
know the least worst is held.
And I'd be a thief to want you badly, why not a bastion
you save the children, but not even a slap
,
perhaps maybe romance.
Now also my hero
it will sell the furniture and under the guise of
relatives will return to dance on
musts September.
Easter, a gray blanket on a menage a trois of brothers
overwhelmed by night.
They pretend not to know, but will start, from what
bleeding and command. Not even a hawk will
the farther I need them.
I live and I feel a terror
next and then another and another until
live with the loneliness of a modern Southerner.
I get up and go to the window.
Nurses
taxes rise again while the old looking for a child on the street, where asphalt and
curious children laughing on a miniskirt and high heels trans
that is stuck in the rails of a tramways.
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