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And this past perhaps a future

I

is this mind that numbs me, confuses me like a madman. Follow my steps transverse to drag me into the bowels of a Madrid no appetite, and I still and eat and get tired and fall asleep with the infinite doubt.
back and forth between ancient promises, and met my detachment and can I say ... I'd rather be forever in that imperfect confinement.

II

not until then, but that different corrala that place is still failing to repair tattered wings and take my future, gives me some peace . And to think any August afternoon, I can still crush your asphalt diverse neighborhood in this walk and a half, so gray and picturesque faces I mix between red, brown and black shades until I get to place a space Lavapies head to body integer.

is when from somewhere in the Paleolithic are launched from the top of that faith loss. You see it everywhere, now you become so, usually in the more distant, that only vast that any woman take a pledge or violet-pink tie, to go to your meeting, and at that distance your eyes gleaning , hasten my pace and the more I get, the more you know, you're not, do not you and I wish, then turn my head to cross in amber, are the next woman who finds this lost look, the mirage that you see even in the TV ads, now dress in shorts and a twisted iron crosses and oxcida your nose, and go after you, even if you are lying, undertake this journey in the opposite direction to the reality of flesh and bone, towards the same deep ... and so intent on until nightfall, and do not distinguish colors, or nose, then it is your voice calling my name and tangled like a whirlwind trip and dreams. Your voice calls, a thousand voices that entangle and then in the past and future, and you sure that you're gone.

III
my trail Who will find this place as they walked through strange aromas heavy objects confusing, a wide bed and a roof over their noses.

I do here but get lost in a sigh infinite

I do here but perhaps fulfill a mandate from hell, perhaps divine, I do here

if I have to go ...

IV
You know, I'm James Dean or a poet, not a political scientist , or perhaps a sad bastard scribbler of a blog.

If I am, I am sure that you wake up tangled hair hurrying to get to an appointment completed;

if I tell you I'm an awkward silence that accompanies your soul florida;

if I am of course I'm a talker pretend themes unlearned;

if I swear I am the complete disaster, persistent dull manuals and can not become entangled with appliances, but above

all I am that little tiny body you looking hurried, with respect even for a moment, that part of the name as yours immensity.

V
And perhaps never saw your world, I read that story or recounting a deep surf, I heard your infinite but I'm still dreaming that your bank and find a word that might never hear.