I always think of you when I'm in bed, there's a close-up
of me immersed in that time of heaven that divides a reality
of another who makes language with her poems that she writes
his own show run in secret. I lose myself in that pulverized light in the deep use of that call that poetry raises to be able to see.

And I go again. That beyond my re-sprouting chaosmosis. And it puts a state in things. It puts its speed it gives machine to my desire. The use of free to get out of the bad days and go without law.

What you feel in the blood the most naked of my sensations, those moments of the day that make the difference. In the bubble we live in. Where I once had eyes To know what I should know beyond
of blurred footsteps.