Broken Capillaries Cost

JRenato Buezo

Utopia

If you ever sinned did distraction. Faced with this five-foot painting with both hands in his pockets, thinking the girl was playing Utopia to be the angel that awakens the senses, chills that ran from any point, and look beyond ran away to become in feathers and quetzales.

simplistic duality dreamed of being what he wanted and did not believe, and be what it was. The duality of the place and time, when he saw looming from the shore of the river when it was repeated many times fair in that painting. "Crossing the bridge from any reality to a future, thought on the hammock with your feet on the ground, and it seemed to go from here to there, it was venturing where there is something other than this side, where the huge mouth the dream was waiting with honey and arsenic, "orpiment, lemon sensation," he muttered as he finished swallowing the glass, even on the mouth. Berating saw her with a drink (a mixture of lemon, salt and alcohol) was not right, he could not, nor be introduced at the troubled deep breaths and soft image, wrapped in imperceptible roughness of children mixed with feminine sensuality always wanted and that was always unable to dream. That was the worst of the dualities, which perhaps led, unfair, all the above.

sipped all the way down the rest of lemon, and at the end of the shot glass grotesque struck him in the throat. I knew that this duality of women and girls could not exist in simple dimension survivor, a lover of anything, once thought a poem when someone borrowed the book from the Chilean forest. And he thought that was the prettiest part of his poem. But that part could not be written and so was thinking about the duality of the poem that did not fit in anywhere. "Alone in here, no good. The words should be written ", he told himself as his eyes, before oil, were watching him. He felt that look was the same painting: distracted, out of time lying on the sand where everyone walked. It was the fault that she realized. Then she saw him with discretion, and saw him draw on his body lying in the hammock the aroma of court that she felt on the skin. "Nothing like this can be for mess, she thought as she left barefoot to a nearby location, and from there he heard talking. The weather became a prank turns and voices, looks outside, far away. He closed his eyes engaging in a silence of stars where he could feel where she was waiting for him naked, winged, almost complete in the fabric of a star where the wind is a warm, moist sea seemed far away rough, was stealing the sipping thin oil knob dripping brush.