they dye the vegetables to make it look better

when inside is rotten

the best way to know is to smell and touch

we know that

now:

orange peel

it's not orange

it's green

they dye it to make it look mature

there is a butterfly against the glass of a door

thinking it's in nature

a lot of single verses

they are not a poem

to this girl I know

likes the feeling of taking off tight shoes

after pleasing others

she only knows how to keep secrets

to avoid burning bridges:

an empty container that she keeps as part of the set

a t-shirt of a band that did not listen

glasses without magnification

a well faked orgasm

it's popular wisdom

that things are better done well

and if not, for that or do them

even the sound of the fan overwhelms her

a melody that says frustration

paint

mandalas

not

it will calm her down

tragic is the breadth of her smile

as well as mine

pretending to be a deaf terminological void

It always amazes me how in the theater someone can die

and yet in the end appear

for the applause

that magnificent applause, so fleeting

poetically incorrect

not like in the cinema

at the cinema

no one is going to come out to greet you

you supply the lack but you do not satisfy the need