Desert February

Do not lose focus of your eyes. Vive. He likes it. It’s an adventure undertaken from the moment he opened the eyes of reasoning. See, how happy they feel waiting for the sun when it’s cold out or seek happiness, waiting for the evening because they are thinking of sleep. I think I should leave this table, I think, I think I’m changing, sometimes I have to have rabies eyes because the eye is what I get this horrible thing I feel. I see the faces misanthropic, almost stupefied, I see that some do not walk, or fly it’s like drawing with your feet on the ground. But what do I say, while I mourn children, the mother hits her and hear her say, “What I will give you food, I myself have eaten?”.

I see the beggars who do not receive anything, bystanders have money to give, I see the elderly continue to work to support their grandchildren, who have lost their father because the mother does not know which of the many men is the real father . It is when my intestines undertake a fight, fight, squirm, are tied, are braided. And that makes me a lot of damage and my liver swarms in a well boiling water, it is boiled slowly, as if it is browning vapor reached the hot oil. And the hungry stomach contains no see or feel: they kneel sharp bones and cut up my poor bleeding tissue only. And how much you want it to be of iron or wood. But some bodies are infected and substances which have rejoiced at the surface, I try to believe that I own. The hard bits that refuse to get rid of, give some ways like a cross, a former or many of these, write dumb insults, names of others who sail adrift on the first sip of some gas, liquid, sent to the cave; final address of any material sacrifice. And the seeds germinate in the Desert February without rain … (To be continued)