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