leads me to the sticks,
to raise the money.
I go with this jacket,
slave widget.
I remember the church when the priest
exhort,
in faith and work, but the vesper fatal
as a whip fell on his back
arquedas, lacerating the skin
of these Christs up.
With stolen words,
a horde of infamous
looters, rapists,
ordered on quipus
waste words.
A safe label it a gob dropped our mouths,
and could not cry
soar in the sky.
calmer minds imbecil
the screen, we were left with only
wasteful decadence of poems
spent. FINIS
- www.fiestoforo.cl 
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