Atlantic Hatred
As they had been able deceiving in them, Saying that we Rosemaria happy Having importance and grans and now in the same ones We say the falseness of the life, I contend easy tear That when it drains Wets intersessions shoulders. We never feel the taste of a kiss. We are worried about opinions. We never contemplate landscapes. The in existent hours that suffocate in them. The blood goes to drain. Because the child does not say this.
She would know at least licking it and leaving singing its colorful melody Together we could write insane person adventure, Preferred to join money being thought To be happiness accumulating. If it does not forget its life gerund completely Nothing if complete. Rain blossoms. Charmer. Of the dark sky she comes to bring green, To wet asphalt, to drain for the side streets. To bring the humidity, contemplating fun-gos, Rendering unhappy the plumes Of the anti citizens. Cry the children? Not, pain is without size.
Tears are drops in the Atlantic Hatred if accumulating In the chest of who it had to be singing I feel very buys armored glasses I tired of said I am wild Heathen I lick dew I smell vines excrement Clean Minis? Trees? Animals? Vi nothing of this In murderous books I do not see drawings Of plants that had died the paper cost cheap It cleaned bunda of bourgeois Dew kickers That in the incessant dawn Go up in trees In the attempt to reach the sky Therefore in them we rebel We can see what we more never want to touch, to kiss or to lick.
