balloons and balloons in celebration as if we were perennial
with the shit in,
if we want to give away those boxes of tempera
that make me fat fingers
rich and the brain.
baby exhumed corpses
shaped
irony hiding in the bathroom or in the library
posing as sheets or trout.
closed them in airtight boxes and when I opened them I admired the smell,
the same places where I still live.
oh how I laughed and laughed,
laughs on my fat fingers and laughed
because my father did not understand, and still
laugh because if I want to live in places
where I am a vagabond.
Gabriel Antonio Baptist Smoke
