Tuesday, June 15, 2010


I am going to write this poem like they were pillars
By hammer, nails and chainsaw
To build coffins to bury the devil
The madafacker and the son of a bitch

I am going to look for timber to make the boxes
Not too expensive for several reasons

Because the interior is a bit ticklish
Worms eat the raw wood
In the cemetery of stones the plants are laughing

Ay, I am going to laugh away
I am going to fall backwards
I am falling away
Crouching my stomach with both hands

The wooden box has the following measures
1 metre in length
half a metre wide
45 cmts high
looking into perspective
it looks more like an apple box

the wood must be pretty cheap
brown colour
and with many holes in it
(so the warms can get out to vomit; everytime they remember it)
in the first rain it will be demolished
the mud and humidity will disintegrate it

And when the winter do end
The earth will self cleanse
The worms will twist and change to cocoons
It will clear up and the earth will smell to wet soil
The rivers will return to carrying stones
Finally the purgatory will rest
Because there will be no more souls in penance as there will no be no more sorrows
Nor anguish or pain

All the planet will be a great orgy
Where the one legged ones will dance on top of the tables
The blind singers will form an orchestra
A drunker sailor will play accordion
The prostitutes will clap in the party
The parachutist will bring out their hankies
The most animated will walk about arrogantly with shining shoes

A fat lady will invite the guest
To have chicken soup
The wine will run like the rain run before
At the end of the festivities
The starts of the show will enter
The builders of pine boxes
Will walk waiving their hands to the masses
Who will stand side by side in the road covered by flags
The party will continue all night
Until the roaster sings will turn off the lights
And the voices of children will be heard
In their way to school.

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