el vudú de anais (martín broussalis)

Old Inner Absence

Im not

Here. Anymore

versus No More, inside never

happened friends, drinking with

me, after my death moment,

in all decency did initiated

a warm and rainy diversion

universe, with personal laws

and temporal straws, lived,

just by me, and only then,

when I felt simple as a

laundry electrical rithm,

that Im dying, faster

than life - my fifth job pimp,

ever fucked me. Blur.

253 multiple of an eye-ball,
not at all sincretical, painting
my wall. Extatic emptiness
blooming my days, useless
fertility striping my nights.
Nowhere land of titless
fairies mutilated by their
flight magic through silicon
implants, vastly payed by
my sleepless dreams, against
each and every window of
stubborn reality I’ll crush
with my pink spit
aqualudical macerated
thoughts, this Saturday.