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EXALATITTE continuation III

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    Painting with your own shadow.
    Later. As if I had not felt for.
    Spitting remains of the night on a fabric, allowed to dry autdoor
    . Stay aware to the limit of the paper
    that separates his two sides.
    A deaf beep indicates  you the exit, as if the profile
    of your hand spoke your own language.
    In the mirror. Be reflected  and recognized another. the
    Garbage showed you at some point that a life is not
    sculpted by beaten. A pool of alcohol and
    a match.
    Open a door. No. The door opens up and invites you
    to enter.
    Walk backwards. Limping. Point out to heaven with the
    forefinger and from the star pulling a thin thread to the
    ground. Stroking the broken ladder that someday served you
    to pick fruit from the tree. Small stones in the
    boot are memories of the way.
    A hotel as home. A stain on the shirt.
    The ink stains and marks a territory. Moves and in
    its route, l leaves the trail than it was.
    Open your eyes in the morning.
    Matías Krahn for exalattte