let us write our lives in the cellar of failures,
in the crack of your mouth and my undine bones.

the impatience of the skin, these impossible
transactions are brainless and tangled as worms.

the momentum of nameless humid glances
is a blurred sleep, suffocating the eyes
in the unknown stains of air.

a suicide sleep that collapses and swallows
my stagnant eyes, each picture of absence
a curve of your voice, a history of ghosts.
+++

the prophet of murderous intent is miscarried
in the place that expels us, in the anonymous
cemetery of roads.

the secret of geography is an arsenal of fear .

the wild hatless boy with eyes of curtailments
and dappled smudges does not survive
the earnest desire to wither into the landscape,
and the reactionary hand becomes silent lead.