Football Ballers And Protein

15.



Anything that is capable of time:
condemn us to repeat a painful history, turning a knife in another mirror, ending
civilizations and cities, dreams corrode and alliances,
can not hurt. Now you're in Lisbon
and there is a poem that burns your throat when you swallow saliva
, or running out of breath after a long
Walking, chewing a liquid and fibrous
metaphor as a sample of bone. It's a pain
've always related to fragments of your life
where you stood sweating in the middle of the night,
and then you could hold on to the same dream at will
with its landscapes and their faces glued to the pillow
urchins poisonous. Were fifteen or twenty
and you tear voracious enough words to cum
down from the peak.
Now close your eyes and you are indestructible,
open your eyes and you're indestructible, you rush for a rusty bar stagnant water
yourself: remains of desires, illegible drafts and packaging
Memories;
is as if we hear the mechanism that triggers it all sounds
underlying swelling bodies,
the sound of the blood flowing through arteries and veins, the breath
anonymous which is cooked in memory and
pulse in the neck of everything you loved
and now the future becomes aware of the past,
and feel like a soldier after the war
does not have news of the defeat
face painting and continues to avoid capture
by an enemy that no longer exists.
is then when your hand approaches the role and your fingers are arachnids
to write each word as if it were the last.

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