Six senses

July 12/04

 

Too much rumination on the hate for others

has left me without words

 

To avoid their strident shouting

my will has made me deaf

 

Blind I could scape

from the diverse faces of their decadence

 

But I can still feel

a cold swirl

nesting in every pore

 

Taste in my palate

this eternal thirst

for the inconceivable

 

Perceive the stench

of this body

that is rotting

 

 

El Matallana