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CONTINENT MAPS

Talk Lucrecia H., who also played music when he writes,
from Japanese Hall.

The world has shrunk, no longer hides
caves without my scent
My brand of colored female cardinal points
There is no way without the trail of my instinct

No time to dilute the scent of my coordinates
The confusion is logical excuse
You prayed for the relief of forgetting the lyrics chew
But you know the outcome
Your body pressed my blood chemistry
Your skin has my stamp
Continents map dripping
The sea can no longer get away
you are not cultures, languages, creeds and dogmas
's hear more powerful than my name
Baste
star thread of water generate
Your wish is my trail only
Everything smells and tastes like me.

Thanks, Sis V.

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JETS AT LEAST ONE PIN

I close the door and lock,

look, pushing and pulling

a cupboard against the door.

I saw in many horror films. Arrojo

lures a dustbin. Dono

used clothing and gift books

with your notes in the margin.

Everything that belonged to that era.

But your image is not a hatchet again

breaking wood. There

a beheading or a face

that shakes and stops moving

under the pillow.

This can not be seen.

This trepidation, this electrical current.

Your memory is a rough

animal that could not manage to put a leash.

Minimum

pin punching and collapsing zone

anesthetized.

Image: Barbara Kruger, Thinking of you, 1999.