Friday, November 21, 2008

Ideas For Paper Plate Awards For Soccer

dozen silent ghost

Says gmail mailbox, if you want to read something, always can check the google news. The only news that appeals is that the kiss with the wisdom of ten expressions finger by finger-pressed with the ten-illusion melted in sensual black room: basic Decalogue hope to raise to the nth vibration ... Yes, it refers to those yours. As absent as you. As inventive as your name and your human form.
you, your nonexistent kisser.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Floral Arrangements For A Baby Shower

received your letter and was glad. I opened it and inside this letter was another letter and I went to cheer. I opened the second letter, but inside it was a third. The envelopes were almost ethereal, like clouds covered with rice paper. This third letter referred to a fourth and a fifth card. In the fifth letter referred to a tenth letter would write three days after you received the answer to your second letter. But the second letter came within the first forwarded it to a twenty-eighth letter would write waving goodbye from me for not having answered the seventh letter, which you said earlier that the six were a sham that would never get to write because I do not deserve it and because my joy to read your first letter you seemed totally fake, it was not true, but it was too late to andARTE convinced of such things after so much time has passed y tantas cartas que sólo llevaban y traían nuestro silencio tan bien dobladito entre papeles blancos...

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

I Spy Six Arrows In Papercity

tank and is

es un Hopper , claro
¿Cómo explicártelo?

Esto es como...
...un crucigrama sin espacios en blanco, el aplauso rezagado en el teatro, el último verso de José Hierro. O Àngel Gonzalez, word on word, wind, or the guitar.

As the disc turns the lights on the bar, restful sleep on your chest in your embrace. Or sneak gunned down or piss on a fire. As the last kick of the hanged, the signing of a mortgage, trafficker leaving his undefeated through customs.

Embrace newly calved off the taxi at the airport and not look back ...

Or throw the bouquet over her shoulder
fire the last guest or
"leaf color your eyes closed verse."

As off to go ...
seal the envelope with sealing wax,
read a will or press "send."

Pull the string,
sit at the seat in the clouds
and leave your life in the hands of the pilot ...

O in the recycle bin.
Or the end of the transit of Pluto
party (with Messi scoring the three-to-two)

Like brushing your teeth before bed, a shout of joy to fuck you, a Martinu by Panocha in Josephus, wish and blow out candles or put a name to a painting, spending the last cent, return your keys to your apartment or get a jump on the subway car about to from and smile.
As Sorolla and a look at three renoir through your camera that caught my eyes, I knew I was alive after the little death, not Romeo Juliet wake up (I know that the reverse was tremendous). Or be the Oscar de Bardem, a jug of cold water, a "not what it seems", kisses in the dark in a hotel in Madrid ..

As escribirnoslo ten times ten, and pixels.
As the clock reveals to us on each tick, tock in each of his final silence: this is resolved.

Friday, February 29, 2008

How Do You Beat Cubefield On Facebook


After a whistling sigh your name, I try to catch their breath and shot me a plane. I do not know why or care to know. Will you want to travel inside and bring out my feelings, bring them out when he does find the exit. But do not give to her, she flutters aimlessly for hours, loaded with 430 posts causes me anxiety and nausea. I'm about to vomit. Among vomiting I see a green sky and a bamboo pale green moon like me like me dizzy, throwing up like me. And the plane is transformed into a red rocket landed.
I hallucinating because it reminds me your cock clavándoseme ...
I recall how I turned softness to caress your lips, vibro with your determination to plant it deep inside, this time in a crater on the dark side that no one discovered.
The moon vomits more air force and I take cod and between crumbs, fruit sauces and indigestible risotto, the rocket that was a while Airbus is spread at my feet in a stream of lava that flows like a fountain of my stomach, premature family, no accident, as a sprinkler on the lawn green garden of my hair, now completely green as the moon and me and the sky.

And you are one of the passengers disintegrated between peas and piquillo peppers.

I get to drink water . Has left the sun , I curl up again, stuck to your butt and your back and sleep, and all blue

Thanks for the pictures to E. Xie, E. Schildt and C. Margeli

Monday, January 21, 2008

Would A Blonde Chunk Look Good In Red Hair

I miss your eyes light

Both are light, a reflection of each other, light between them, suspended in air that are not, in custody, still breathless sailing, but heat. Light and silence.

Twice a month, way ahead of that pile of garbage and stir among office paper and cartons, tissues stained with carmine or mustard to find the stack of numbered poems abandon there twice a month , before me, the words are confined to each other, the differences are common to expand with your waves of optimism, I met and it thrills me to discover that they have become shared feelings, perceptions of two crazy imaginative ... It is a lake of illusion, I in the sand, you in gentle waves to the shore kiss me every ten times I'll skin and coat with that smile of yours so that curve points upward-looking items you are looking for- ies on the drawn on my cheeks. (Eternal party you turn all the bulbs in our branches).

I discovered one day to alight the bus at the Cientocuatrobé and my leg flew up a handwritten sheet. I shook my foot to loosen and continued there hugging, looking from below as viewed from above a poem written on his leg: synchronized in an embrace blind. With all the light of their efforts, I took it and walked with it without looking at my fingers, crumpling it and she grabbed my hand to the trash heap of yellow street crossing, to throw. Still unaware that it was the blade that I lit the night and the road. There was a pile of messy papers, numbered seventeen. Recognize the format. Then I read that remained in my hand and took the others home. I got three in the morning, reading and rereading this storm of emotions. (Since then, the fireflies flit through my window drunk that bottle in your place)

Each night passes at the same time except when you stand your role and the middle of the street with arms outstretched on the cross. At this point, intersection of Orange Street and Cientocuatrobé, the garbage truck stops screeching tires. The driver grit your teeth, you curse and swear that next time you get hit no more ruthlessly ... But that happens every ten, twelve or fifteen days, there is no way of knowing when you will appear, there is no way to predict when you'll jump to the road to stop the work of landfills.

One of them is limited to jalearte, if you look-no-you-take away-from-there-you-going-to-get-two-hosts, "poor crazy, "he thinks." You stay there planted a couple of minutes and then you calmly.

is the right time I need to finish rummaging through the garbage in the corner, between the Yellow and Cientocuatrobé street. Because twice a month when I can leave work before time, public transport stops there before me were carried debris in the corner and pick up poems know someone who leaves the trash pile.

(.. . She does not know that, after depositing the poems, I go to the corner of Orange Street Cientocuatrobé and I hope you see your bus. When it's garbage truck before she did, I planted a jump in the middle of the road and I ride the stunt to the dump, which entertain and watch as she walks up the poems. Then he winked at the driver and I'm whistling something cheerful. The light of his face to the light I find my writings over the next two weeks to continue writing poems smiling light draws)

Monday, January 14, 2008

How To Write Happy Birthday Bubble Letters

offer him ... The King is dead

Tremendous visual impact meet your hand, your fingers, your eyes, your shoulder, your nakedness prudish, you impudent look. Terrible

not tell you how I know you have challenges and I've tangled between syllables and verses, although I know it's not me you look at the nipples, or write. That perfect balance between gaze and verb yours that makes me feel eerie electric shock, the satisfaction of running up and stop getting out of breath in the air in flight, let me take two drafts, fly your water and your sands, quench the thirst for beauty with your lyrics, earning the break in the sun, shiver-glee in your verses.

applaud and leave quietly, applaud and stay silent, holding their breath, lest he notes, so you do not know that I came to read you and made me glow with pride because I rediscover the joy that makes me your writing : the pleasure of meeting with all sides of your expression, your perfect geometry.

Bello is your rudeness, believe me, I did enjoy and the more I read the less I know how corresponderte. So I left quietly, without a trace.

Now, here, only occurs to me now give your eyes ...

back Inspired by the post "You look"