there is something about a gloomy day after a night of partying.
about the vicinity of thoughts, heavy and unearthed.
maybe i should et could et…
my aim was always
to please. and somebody
once told me i must continue on paths;
as salmon make their way to spawn and die in autumn,
there was and always is, more
than uttered, than visible.
in tucson, i answered back in spanish.
a man taken by effect, grinned a smile of surprise and cunning.
asking if i am with my mom.
no thats my friend, you fucking asshole.
the wind blew heavily.
reassuring me of my direction to the west. the sonoran desert of the bolaño chapters
lied in his teeth
as if we did not understand
each other.
