Poema beatnick en inglés porque escuchaba PJ Harvey y pensaba en Ginsberg.

Do you remember my imaginary blue eyes breaking trough the spied tongue of your sacred words, that day of illuminated April when everything seem-just-white-and-vernacular? The universe tried to send you to the natural human ecstasy, but the gray-eyed angelskin burned like the ice of your starving hair, attached to the same wind that passed trough the ancient skies and the burned money and the childs of cold playing the hopscotch in the shadows of the beautiful cities, wrapped up in the Absolute Autumn Haze.
The tears rushing, rushing, rushing, and all we can do is just wait for the distance of that motionless world in vane, quiet like the rivers and the hospitals and the ears of war. Vomiting screaming, the ears won’t help the man that smokes and cries and whines and see-for-feel salvation in eternity outside time and people and things.
Your skin of lonesome poetry all around the room invading the spaces that we emptied time time time ago, when we both didn’t believe that time existed and that people dies and cries for love, absolutely ripped off their brains but looking for that silhouette dancing in the corners of the infinite intoxicating streets.
And the presence is you laughing at me, looking trough the window looking for the distant seas. And emptiness is your mouth and heart and soul and the map of your body cold as mine.


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