Wednesday, March 29, 2017

...that's where the routine: Elia Casillas

You did not emigrate, it was only a barter, although the bed rises in another shadow, dreams run through its own sheath. The coffee with its dawn: one of human sugar and not to lose the course, a jet of loving milk. As always, when the style we are taking immediate responsibility and then I walk it... A move to the exact spot. The water sounds the same, in the bathroom there are smells and sighs, although it is not the same, neither hair, nor eyes, nor feet. Maybe, that's where the routine misplaced his face.

Navojoa, Sonora. September/10/2004

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