Nothing global appears inside me

and the tears of my loneliness are climbing

the mountain of pictures and sold books.

But the inner voice is break with tomate soup

like Warhol’s paint, and a grave of noise

arrise like an ocean 

inside these nowhere land that I am.

Filled the time with bubble gum soul

fake love fake sight fake tongue.

Speak the length of what I choose.

The sadly toy who I am, destiny toy

that flies with solitude appearance

like a gray cloud, lost in the sky who never

take back the sun with its lightnings and drops.