I've outgrown my own imagination and spent my youth on what was not yet needed.
Maybe an escape will steal from the present the little bits of the past i've left behind.
Here i'll be cheerful, imaginative and cheifly inconsistant. I might get gloomy though...
Hopefully untied to myself.
Monday, November 20, 2006
poema 38
Cantan las arterias;
cantan como cae arena
en más arena.
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