Tortugas.

Epiphanies
spawn
and
become
dead
before
became
ink & paper.
And the sea is always there.

Nails.

To sit down
to
   look
breathe
describe,

scribble
      some
notes

The lost war.

The thing is,
she said,
that
my soul
is like a nazy lab
swollen
of experiments
that never seem
to stop
           going
                 wrong

And then
she left,
elipsys
of
   my
       last
defeat.

Paranoia Hope.

Paranoia
was wrong.
There wasn't
anybody
there.

To Alejandra Pizarnik.

Now,
even
Freedom
took
away
from here.