sábado, 30 de noviembre de 2013

focus

the smell of lime
and onions
in the bright dense
humid
sweating saigon day

the taste of sprouds
the dark iced café,
making me tremble,
in the small tin
police yard

the co twong
played sitting on the cement floor
dirty feet
fingernails

a war
somewhere
inside

most of the times you can only see the eyes of
the bike riders
passing over the
surviving french buildings
that look like old botannical gardens
decaying

something is really spicy

but i don't know what it is

something made me think about you

but i don't know what it is

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