lunes, 29 de septiembre de 2008

This is my mud -Rudimenta style-

* Equal to the millstones of jaguar.
* This day was never mine.
* The Sun can be a bad dog and I do not have history.
* Another day in the tranquility of the jungle.
I do not know that to think. It are it nice.
To be wrong smells to mistake.
I am a small cat hurt by an anonymous herd. I clear the foam of the bark.
To rest under the white spot.
The guardian in the bureaucracy.
* This hour of the evening does not have name. I am the late afternoon.
* With this legendary pain extracting the crumbs of the poetry. Says Rivers: but it does not prevent from turning / turning from speaking about a dog / anyone, one black / black dog dog moving the tail.
Anita says: the brain to ten centimeters of the brain (mollera)/spends the communion/of the captivated ones. -Rudimenta Style-.

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