Chance willed that the entry that the number 500 on this blog agrees with the Cuaversos. Let us, therefore, carried away by these incidents.
Crying is cushioned with foam of beer
share in the slum where
secrets and missing frames.
Sendos stools,
as border states,
hold our gaze of suspicion
declaring wars that lie ahead.
In our hands sliding hands sweat silent
short-period comets that draw on the bar that we signed truces,
commitments and any flight.
silent words wrapped
by other, more violence postpartum
in discussions of football and trash TV.
The world, it seems,
has reserved its right of admission at the bar without
doors for us to seek, without haste,
one night on a couple of lives
anyone.
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