zip @ 2005-07-30T02: 25:00
Will lead turned into spring
between your new hair caressed by marmots apocalyptic.
lead, and when you become melodious
my bandoneon August afternoons
close my eyes and devour a deep pit of asphalt without seasoning,
splashing around with the soot of your laughter rusty sickle.
will die buried in the white sand beach, chewing
nitrate salt
makeup of your teeth wounds in my nooks steel without light, vomiting
tangos without notes and without touching
suburb in the knees, converted
a stain on the thigh and cardinal
tattooed virgin paper envelopes laid, stripped
and kneeling before the lobes of your back. I will die distilling
mirror chips and remembering how I feel a tiny circle ate tainted,
and taking your perfume and powder formula.
die as a huge wound,
brown, blackened, bruised, scared.
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