Do not let the migrating soul
Capture the night
You are about to fall
Agree with all
Bemused and in awe
Harness all hate in a pocket
Through and through
In the sadness of my sleep

Had the hope of giving up
as well as dying
had the hopes of any old man
with a **** for life of unstoppable
parables and boring friends

he stepped out of his house
walked as any old day
dressed on a two piece suit
went to the bus stop

He leaned to see if it was comming
and as usual he came fast
this mexican busess are all too reliable
for not following the speed
limit
He jumped in front of the bus
and ended it.

Those beautiful abysses where conscience
Awakes to the smell of incense
muscles seeking other beings
To obscure alleys

your hair and the ribbon
Atop those ******* resting on a humming bird
The sweet taste of hachis brings forth
Remembrances of life before God

Lovely the silent ****** of night
desire ablaze with fiery eyes
To You and the skin you wear
Like the unknown land of nevermore

Nothing in your hands
I do not know what to tell you
but they are the sailing waters
and the spontaneity of your feet
When the Sun and death
haunt my waking
in this table of carbon
lust the finger lifts
and you imagine me
undone by half
but the world turns
and its delights embark on the migration
to my eyes of plant
waiting for the time of morning bath
your feet revolve with the tenderness of the foam
they ride into the roof of my house
and read Peret
love comes
as a bug
While you are distracted with the mouth
and those lips that passionately
crash each other
the violence of the clouds
are my land

pain travels in front of us
I have pursued it in your breath
from the first ray that pounded
the Earth
in the awakening of the stones
and the birds
hunger appeared
in  the beautifully useless walks
through those avenues

While the snow created flakes
to unleash the fury of the fire
at your feet I settle
sweetly
bathed and satisfied

My anonymity covers the case of my lost steps when you think of me

There is no distinction between a soap and the feeling of touch and the immortal cockroach, while I sleep in the confidence of losing everything.

How much lack of accuracy between two desperate hearts when marching without weapons