Cry. It rains. Water on Route 12. A car that crosses his knees, smiling Flenche wet stream. And the sun, rebel, running away from the cobwebs simulates an avid sky dismissed. Trees. Food stand at the foot of crumbling collective ... depleted timber loaded with so much poverty ...
to Ceiba. "Ana does not sleep, cries a voice hidden in the wings of a sparrow beaten by the wind. And the Paraná. With its source of blood with clay. Boats full of logs. Smell the perfume of the bait: brown, chicken guts, bream, beetles and frogs. Everything is born: at the foot of a tapestry of scars warm liquid emerald.
The entrerriana.
dreams hurt when someone wakes us up before the end ...
And the emptiness. The immensity. The silence of forests and a meadow dancing legs devoid of the cross. Female horse. Middle child in a straw hat hitch. Sobbing in the sky on the windshield of my astonishment. A yellow clouds laugh ... and wild promises: two noons embraced another bird do not know.
"And to think ..." ponders the O'Connor's throat, while a silver hammer decapitates the pavement and spits saliva on the saliva. Laguna Lake. Irupé covered pools. "That thing could be ... you dragged this time ...". And melt my eyes in front of the sanctuary of Gilda. Rotten wreath dialogue oxide sheet just breathe and wait. The idea of \u200b\u200bstaying through the objects. Unexpected shock to the pain of others ... Someone
blurs my shadow ...
ever ...
Rest your hands comfortably on a wicker basket in the Parador Ceibas Terminal. Route 14. Department Gualeguaychú. Tire Repair soaked gravel disguised. Eucalyptus, without underwear, trembling under a light crust of selfishness. Gloomy gate of mold fungus and misgivings sentinel curiosity of all anxiety stock.
Entre Rios. "Giving is giving," Fito Paez risk. And the smoke of a truck tells me about Uruguayan blades; of skin impenetrable trail falters in Brazil. Caldenes. Piquillines. Another arm with a tattoo of fresh water. White ducks do not deny their rides without a clock. Horses and a child who whip through his fingers, the chewing indifferent watching the herd ... from a road that never appeared in a map ...
"Giving is giving ... and do not look at her and how they act. Dar es give ... and not telling anyone to stay or run away ... "
The absurdity of the claims ... Two sheep
swim in the grass burned. Red. Supplicant. Grill: lunchtime. Choripan and crane sunk into a mud that seems to forget the bitter breath of the clouds. "Winners defeated." Winners losers. Patricio Rey and Ricotta Redonditos forgot to explain that there are paradoxes: the world is a quartz crystal carved by the disorder. "I sell piglets and lambs." Km 30. Blue Marble bus, painted glass eyes and eyelashes. Salame. Artisan cheese. Soybean fields that test a golden melody between sharp and beans beans adolescents.
"Southern Caribbean." Bar-Pool-"Companies." Cabaret thick plaster and roof secured with bricks stolen less talkative neighbor. Shrines to the dead in front of the rooms. Wooden cross copper. Lightning rod for those who fear the loss of voice of the earth. Via Crucis Gualeguaychú. Net bags and a thousand oranges that circumvent the seams of a flickering screen. Sweet and juicy stream "Gualey." Black spiders, giants, applauded the passage of a traveler who never learn to live close to the ground ...
The entrerriana.
Back view ...
Gualeguaychú River. Camino rising to evaporate the foliage. Monte rough. Wood sullen. Dura. Rebelde. Brown urine, rolling between the bellows of a cannon haughty; refuge for those fish that lie stone ... invent a nickname that does not get old ...
And a policeman: "love." Phrases that are kicking each other, ears fantasies of 40 years to forget, skin hit by the humid air. Dry mouth truncated laughter. Swollen belly after a uniform olive green dyed liar. Remove
...
Tala. Sawmills. Entre Rios. Litter dies, no prayers, as the sun sinks look ... Share distracted playing the relentless cruelty of an ax ... Evening. The sky is open. Open. Open. Between pink and purple clouds. Flashing lights and burning viscous enemy of consciousness, that covers the body, stabbed breathing. Falls. The evening falls. And those trucks that do not rest their backs of cereal ... Squeeze a destination known to Rio Mirage ... Photo
to sing ...
Finally: an unexpected spot. Pretending to be an alligator's jaws gaping, winking an eyelid from the sky. The wind and smells like ripe fruit. A citrus plant hangs still in love with the ants. Sawdust.
The entrerriana. For
when our voices are off ...
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