jueves, 5 de mayo de 2011


He sat in the edge of my heart
and sunk his toes

I could taste the death
covering my face
with those little fingers
like flies on my mouth

The empty voice
comes from the soil
where the beauty is being killed
by the wax of the mysteries

There is no cave inside of any of us
that can shut this disgusting noise

A lost thunder
is whispering on my ear, softly.
It is trying to shake
 the ivory of the stones,
it's trying to bleed the ax
that knocks my chest.

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