While I feel the humidity in the clothes
and I decide what socks and pants to enter,
as I turn around and turn my back
to the clothes that I will leave hanging
out there, while I close the door
I let the blood of thought
because that's how everything has to be
some greedy or drunken or tidy hand of the
destiny feels our back and with an unscathed gesture
just decide whether or not we're ready
whether or not we deserve to be off the hook
weather and enter somewhere
Wild fowl stew.
Monday seven in the morning
Before the clearing, the birds with their noises, which some call singing, make it known that the day is coming.
start of the week. yesterday no dinner. I don't have breakfast today. the guts feed on themselves and those grams that I managed to get last week are already a memory that left on the last walk in order to get out of this hole once and for all.
what will my god say
what will the neighbor say
if with a stone I go down to a creation of nature
chorus angels and some pigeon rat
I pluck them I gut them
and boil them with pot potatoes.