The book of wounds, where we inscribe all our hurts
She does soul-shifting into the bodies of her friends
Falling is the voice of the rain
Use broken things to see ourselves
The moons of insomnia
Days of the week are characters
And some of our energies are refrigerated
Paper boats floating on a dirty river, and the
Body parts of dolls.
Some poets, our dearest friends, die frailly.
The City of Rock Walls: El Paso.
That's Gabriella.

El Paso, 2004.04.10

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