NEVER

I saw four women struggling to the breast of a dead man,
I saw four women struggling alone, later,
possesion of the puff
and disputing with its fierce nails by Abel Garmin happy that
gives up those bones

There are four women who stole my stench sensitive
my rot in the body that still breathe slow-mind letting it
leave from there my soul like a fart.

And those four beings now keep the bloody rest of my spirit
and dwell forever in the carnage of its every day low mouths
and of the nest of their buttocks

to know whole in the insensitive of the time
as it was the sense that I learned not from the sky
as it falls below the word never.