the thick moss from my temples.

in the vomiting multitude,

who serve platters of salt beneath harps of saliva.

with the crowds from the ships, taverns, and parks.

and launching incredible ships

The fat lady went first

Its not the vomit of hussars on the breasts of their whores,

pushing it into our throat.

with fermented tr九_九_藏_书_网ees and tireless waiters

Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived

The look on my face was mine, but now isnt me,

the naked look on my face, trembling for alcohol

and filtering a longing for light into subterranean tunnels.

but the dead who scratch with clay hands

the dead, pheasants and apples of ｈｔｔp://ｗｗｗ•9９lib.nｅｔanother era,

with no effusive horse to shear

The fat lady came out first,

who turns dying octopuses inside out.

The fat lady

was running through the streets and deserted buildings

and summoning the demon of bread through the skys clean-swept hills

The fat ladyｈｔtｐ://www•９９liｂ•neｔ came first

that flows from waves where no dawn would go,

and leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the corners

and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies

Who could imagine my sadness?

nor the vomit of cats that inadvertently swallowed frogs,

The graveyards, yes the graveyards

The fat laｈｔｔp://ｗwｗ•99lｉｂ•neｔdy, the moons antagonist,

tearing out roots and moistening drumskins.

with the empty women, with hot wax children,

Theres no other way, my son, vomit! Theres no other way.

Vomit was delicately shaking its drums

I protect myself with this look

on flint gates where clouds and desserts decay.

and stirring up the furies of the last centuries feasts

did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.

where the bitter tropics could be found.

I, poet without arms, lost

among a few little girls of blood

and the sorrow of the kitchens buried in sand,

There were murmuring from the jungle of vomit

through the anemones of the piers.

who were begging the moon for protection.