E '
the overlap of thoughts and words, in the teeth
a stumble and a sob choked
of guttural sounds.
A ghost of words and gestures, with the nails
clinging to my retinas:
only with the brain off
and glassy eyes
immersed in some kind of liquid crystal
be forgotten and let die away that damn chill.
And you end up, poor devils,
to curse the gods and hells,
softly, in an angry hiss dry and continuous
lost in its same form, which makes us navigate
on current natural
eyes of so many committed and indifferent.
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