puente

For the thirsty, Bajo,


This is serious. I can not play for I do not permit it. I often do not understand, thought this morning I did something to a body. I told it to dance. Two boxes and a dress that arrived from Brooklyn, they belonged to tia Margarita. The things that live in women stay inside of her. And in water. I cut my tongue, this way i can longer have what responds to the furtures. This finished all that is punctuation and autograph.

I pretend i am Europe, eccentric and that who duels in the contemporary. Is it possible for this to be equal? That this language can be nothing as well as so much?

Everything is farce. Everything is architecture.

And this way everything thinks a designated space, all but this dialect alone knows to close doors, and doors, and doors. i will go to the carnival of hands, in the gardens behind you, captured. I will learn to read, and to think as is worthy. How to listen to Barthes and do what he says. Yes soak in the thing of this note. Yes, if i could find that bridge (on water) that responds to both water as they amble, like the knowledge of running has ceased. Two-water. Face is equivalent to hook, remember.

Your Beloved Caridad