Things (Poetry)

He lowers his head

The shoe tends to pierce a lot of saws

Where to rejoice and head as a box for an old woman full of combs and some mattresses unit

And the sound in which a man lost his ends

Where is your home? Where are things?

Where are the maps to leave .. those that traveled you

And made me dead traveling dreams of life .. Looking for a hand sticking to it

Fear his loved ones

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Wacky .. similar to dust .. carrying the mouth of the mouth of the drowning

He understands love and does not recognize it

It is the distance.

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Bubbles are those that themselves are the time of anxiety

And I chewed the summer as a mole and kept it

I open my ribs to the rain

L History of cold and windy

So as not to get into the pores of dry bread loaf

History is silent in front of false life

I finally realize that flame is the master of all menace

And that I am slowly killed when I return to my house and in my hand the decision to re-knit the heart ..

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Now there is no limit here and there

The secret is ugly

The hospital is free of the insane

And the earth remains as the wishful survival in the chest is afraid

When the celestial bodies decide to let down, and the earth is fertile for temptation

Vina annihilation and nostalgia in others need it

They are things the size of the earth and its inspiration

We are a killer hack