walked absorbed by large windows with signs of reductions, when my eyes met with him. A boy who would not have the twenty-five years, sitting on the street, they noticed enough that the roads had been her home for some time. He played guitar and distributed strips of sheets with a huge smile. setándome I went to her side and started talking. It was considered a street poet, a seeker of smiles and dreams, which had seen the underworld and he realized he needed to find, look for without being swallowed by commercial names, or dogmas of faith. He gave me one of those strips of sheets, was poetry ...
"innocent Trangresores
as broken glass on the floor Women
foolish fools choose
held to the sound of Reque Reque
Accelerates and the glass breaks against sleep
a prophet howling Chimpún -Chimpún We all pray
masks and veils
opaque Faces
aimlessly dancing of frustrated aristocrat
Bishops VIP
shells and hammers
Too Freud to Nietzsche also
stick too Platonism
asshole for both high
fatuous lights Theatre
The shaman is the dj
wet paper or who knows
hormone Disco
wish cave
Ringing owned
leap of Resaca and armor
steps
fourth and forget as soon as possible
Or if
negañaste
pushes your anger against your navel
Lost and bottomless
like you
trash as your slavery
The
things you believe you own
but above all
me a favor, do not think
that if it hurts "
now living on the street poets
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