lunes, 5 de enero de 2009

Three poor kings

Keep going -said a little fellow to his shoes while he was blowing his dirty nose.
There are black boxes, and birds.
Somewhere
over the summer
A big plant is gonne have green babys,
And shadows will become trees full of bloody families.
In the city everybody is getting pregnant, maybe to forget they re own green Hell.
January is like an ice skream smelting over the hand.
The streets are full of resaca of christmas and happy new year,
No money was left on my shoes. The three kings got drunk and smoked
And my father drunk the water I left to the camells
.

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