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even sleep, is a luxury.

beard is long of those who can not wait

of those who decided not care

everywhere, in every such.
jeans in the wind, the cold air.

Gypsies are born, we become pilgrims
the sun was too low to see us.

thirst, light, and then the night.
coins and scattered light to open a soft pack.

between the pear liqueur, and tales of rags to wash
everything seems to lose shape.
my pillow smells the same.

red liquid. and dry hands.
love machine.
life in your pocket.

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The delicacy of an eye

are still waiting, maybe I will find some travel companion. It does not count the money, no! Not even counting the big car and even women, if they are a good shop at the market to give themselves an air of being sexual with a well characterized. There are angels who did not have to prove anything, because their beauty is more radiant than any other vile rise scandalous intimacy of species of men wanting to prove that they are revealed in all their vileness. There are men and women who are lost in the complications of feelings that can only make them unhappy. They are seeking love, even in this market, as you do with lemons, when supply is convenient. But love can not buy! Not asked or give in to the insistence of those who sell. Love is being itself. You can not love those who have no soul and body, delicate and fair, who does not have emotions and intimacy where the beauty ideal and comprehensive showing absolute good, before all other desires, before any other pleasure. The pleasure is stolen sorrow and regret. E 'blackmail has bad intentions. E 'discord and decay.
are still waiting, who knows, you return the delicacy of an eye.

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at a slow pace.

late

walk quietly into the night smiling
and solar

even look tired
only the sound of rubber and asphalt


while he buried himself in
away inside me.
looked like the end.
could be
not.
rather shit.

what I want, how much you loose.
hear the scream of the world.

did not know what to look
then I saw something.
and I heard the sound of machinery.

night. is always wonderful.

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Pansa. but that's normal. with the head I have.


pale lips biting taste of saliva.
something soft.
under the sheet is better
life runs the same

walking in the center between the afternoon coffee and cigarettes
abundant.

fresh air and comfortable shoes
behind a pair of glasses

afternoons always seem better.

but I'm still thirsty.

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Fiesta de las gotas!

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leave a message. will call you back. thanks.

'm not looking for you.
and even me.
search for life in the palm of the hand between the voices of
CRT
pages yellowed and tobacco cloth.

no bad time
even the silence of the rain takes away
rooted thoughts.

does not hurt to think big.
just think maybe it helps.

change everything.
also present.

save ourselves the butt. before the soul.
we will be sitting.
have to wait.

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what I say. tell me.

windows opened
table. glasses.
overflowing ashtray.
the whole, wrapped in purple.

laughter, screams, cries.
TV intermittently and white walls.

not so tragic.
nothing.

cats have people resting energy

no scratches.

the evening is here.

between ancient beliefs and barefoot on the couch.

hours.

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Mini-station! Presentación

• The lustation is organizing the mini-station ! (The version of the brat • lustation)
Saturday will inaugurate the exhibition with more than 300 drawings of children, more than 60 penguins made by so many talented illustrators.
Sábado 12, at 12:30 en Abracadabra (c / General Alvarez de Castro, 5).

Below my penguin (I know, seems like a sparrow pregnant ..) plus the poster of the event.

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I ended up having sore lips


of stars not to pay even the shadow of the moon that night I light

and lighters scarce

"want the light of this kiss?"

thank you but I continue with the butt
dim light. orange full.
my way I know.
is made of a continuous junction.

So here I go. I'm ok.

I forgot my heart.
you bring it to me.
if you find it.
is black. and outside it is night.

my running shoes. I smile.
my sheets are no longer cold.
without you.

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autumn and red tempera. dreamless.

the smell of the last day of life
tired running around the room.
no pain, no mercy.
only white teeth, tired eyes.

night burning in my glass
clean, neat. now dry.

nothing has changed.

may change but want a big gamble.

nothing has changed.
I just picked up a cigarette. when they are in the dark.

still laugh out loud.
continues.
the anxiety is always nice.

want a strong shudder.
dry.

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your injury will not keep you warm tonight.

light moments in the heavy words
the sun out, the fog
inside the ice, only in the glasses.

take everything calmly
in the package still soft in the middle
night kisses might be many
any inappropriate

the coffee is always bitter. thanks.
while I recover from the consciousness of an ordinary day. I
unshaven
and ideas for sale here.

prejudices are cold.
warm blankets.
hot women.

know how sometimes you just think about it.
in solitude.