Sunday, June 14, 2009

Seems Like

The figure's form
at twenty past eleven is
a wife in the shape of noise
as if someone played out a smile.
The tribe of morning
finally arrives in a terrible
hat of light and longing to present
its particular bill of particulars, the stage
is set.
Bring now hands of hair
unclasped- the devil comes in
riding an elephant and smoking, bent on
corrupting the last beautiful thing but, as always
insisting on politness.
The proprieties will be observed at all tymes!

1 comment:

Ariel Ayala said...

hhola saludos geniales sus trabajos!