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Perpetual
socoro we are talking about would be like
that if a woman with no children

and will take a call Consuelo.

But the child grows and turns out to be quite the opposite:
then the mother kills him.
- I have no son, "she says. It was.
And then marries a guy with no balls
and happy forever.

If not, then,
was as if one is
a prolific writer (imagine ) Then:
one writes in a somewhat sickly

and exuberantly passionate and smart, one wrote a great thing:
There, at the time you read a book of other people, you see
note:
that idea, then, the great idea that lasted a month to be generated, and another
did thirty years ago, because we feel the same,
because, well, the stones continue to narrate the history of the world and one
continues to believe that everything is already solved.
What?
Big deal!
By God ... And you get to write about something else.

If not, would be the nail that grows on the skin
miscut: Pulula
infection and red and looks from the rotting flesh and mouths bloody

(ampicillin would be the relief to such misfortune)

would like
smoke expands the senses, this perpetual distress.

would blame you always remember that all
absolutely everything goes wrong
and other things distract you
of apparent importance.
would be bad decisions.


this trap deceives us with shorter paths. Never
time. And the trouble, right? there's never time:
Still, in the end, one ends up dying.
And then what? "Another life?

- Neither could with one.

So, you think what will change tomorrow.

Tomorrow?
am sure I will again
and inevitably we will fall into the same thing:
that if you, if I, if we do not and that's enough tragedy
(how we love the tragic Enough)
giving that last measure of satire masochistic
to this.