Address needed/books in mail on Monday.
Congrats and thanks all for participating!
I thought a lot about vanishing anyway.My profession is about having an effecton people by making sentences.A real moment of exhilaration camewhen I discovered staples.Overtakelessness.I wanted to fill my elegy with lightof all kinds. But death makes us stingy.Helplessness built a wall in her.Prowling the meanings of a word,prowling the history of a person,no use expecting a flood of light.But all those little kidnaps in the dark.
Many the peoples many the oceans I crossed--I arrive at these poor, brother, burialsso I could give you the last gift owed to deathand talk (why?) with mute ash.Now that Fortune tore you from me, youoh poor (wrongly) brother (wrongly) taken from me,now still anyway this -- what a distant mood of parentshanded down as the sad gift for burials -accept! soaked with tears of a brotherand into forever, brother, farewell and farewell