Tu pueblo a oscuras,
polvo,
cuatro caminos que se repiten;
árboles
donde sembré barcos de papel
y algún poema bajo el sol...
Un puente,
barracas,
Roosvelt Sykes
pudo sembrar girasoles
sin tener idea de mi nombre.
Un piano y otro árbol,
miel
que aún
derramo sobre tus senos.
¡Muchas gracias por tu visita!
Your town in darkness,
dust,
four roads that repeat themselves;
trees
where I planted paper boats
and a poem or two beneath the sun...
A bridge,
shacks,
Roosevelt Sykes
could plant sunflowers
without knowing my name.
A piano and another tree,
honey
that I still
pour over your breasts.
I invite you to visit the project DRIP - WITNESS NODE - BPUD 
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Thank you very much for your visit!
