Mexican Oleanders are nodding to the wind patrol all four of them the wind smells empty taxis. The birth of an extra car at the end is the denomination of a loss of breath every day. (atleast life is always winning outside drugstore windows.) The shafts of light on every street have been persecuted by the dust.
It has issued pores on their surface.
These shafts are set into motion by men in majestic blue suits who are sweeping the streets clear of daylight.
I lost my privilege to participate to a crow who is now crossing the river (Yamuna) without getting wet.
Thinking your summer knees in the shade of a tree which fractured its elbow last night when the storm came rolling in . . i am seeking somebody skilled in his trade like priests a woman perhaps who can rearrange me into shelves so that when i am the top i can negotiate time with pigeons sleeping in the garrets (at four)
Outside the rain is making an eyebrow on* the faint road it certainly is yours.
A tractor is making sections of this road fertile. That is where I anchor my lies and by evening i have grown a pasture to rest with your cows