As the sole possessor of nothing.
I buy the bread, the night grabs me
and I eat what I had for lunch.
It's when the house smells of orange groves
TV misses you over time
and I go out to collect water on my knuckles.
They say it is easy to hit someone.
The difficult thing is to give pineapples to the air
and let the rain leave me
your fingers in the face. They say utopia
is nowhere. But here,
above the standing wall
on a bank of fog I wait
see the sun rise between the branches.
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A veces leo.
Magician
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