The lighted window across the street, is inverted in this nocturnal puddle.
Arabia is configured in this monological song through the trade that has fallen to him, the craft that leads him to a...
Warm fingertips press into my shoulder. In my periphery, I see Colin perched beside me, on the leather sofa’s narrow...
We lived at a ranch near Balcarce, at I don’t know how many hundred kilometres from Mar del Plata.
I find my eyes amongst the hailing greys, / central, like the principal teaching / in an overcrowded frame
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