lunes, 10 de febrero de 2014



my own sweat falls from my head
to my bones
a thin presence of lime
black pepper
and safran
in the old opium parlour

there are unknown small fairies
under the huge palm leaves
and scooters sliding above the melting streets

why that endless fire is burning
the red flag is still blowing
for the tellers are going slightly mad and I wonder

who's the best girl I ever had?