Why the change, somehow, makes me alive. And why should I change (I try) every moment: I am like the river . And as I said before, I am without words . The less of them, best for me.
More of the same:
house Things, poem by Marcelo Sandman
1. She now only
can love with the passion contained
Butterfly stuck in a Styrofoam plate
(Occasionally a pop
wing and go flying across the room
and wants to break the lamp.)
2. He brought in eager hands
The branch Roses repentance
And the button for the more showy pink
Bee poisonous
What stirred inside
3. Anger
raided the house
a violent blaze
Creston everything!
now carry two buckets of water inside
Pra,
spied on by neighbors,
Who look far
Behind wrinkled shutters.
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