've come to your house,
and now, you'd want know what it is sitting,
what it is sitting like a shipwrecked
in your everyday things poor
L. Rosales
We have no center. We both know that the flight, walk the dunes to escape, remove the batteries to all the clocks, I do not know why that compulsive mania batteries take all watches and ride to the border to escape or to stop at service stations hot lunch and then stay asleep in the rain and exhausted flight. Do not know why there is always that kid that follows us, but we are very into the dunes, dirt bikes and groundings, are the child of trains and parks, I know you also hear play, which is almost always the same, though it changes form, and we remain in the streets and in the woods while I teach the steps of the deer, the roots bites and poisonous mushrooms that smell and recognize. I do not know what has to be that child forever. Suddenly I seem to be getting away from something, I write in the blue notebook and I'm standing near the window. You do not smoke. Close your eyes. I wonder if it rains.
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