Power Of Attorney Refinancing

Inheritance naked


Kalvellido Bullet

These days I wonder what kind of world we bequeath.
Beyond our graves will be a land where violence if goes along with democracy, is an asset to all who breathe.
A world of slavers and slave, a barbarian world. And among such confusion
I also wonder what will happen with the flags, with their bodies, with all those people who are massacred daily in the name of strange liberties, justice rare, false salvapatrias intentions.
And I must say, I feel that will leave a legacy of nausea, that the future arrives, brings dragged too barbaric.
In view of all is that many democracies today are openly murderous exhibit lewd, grotesque, his lack of humanity and who believe they want to believe as they do in our name.
This happens now, the empire dress, the words are adulterated and should improve this place that history inevitably worsens.
For all this, I wonder what will become of those who come, how will to inherit the song or hope?, What way will draft a will that distributes the joy or anger, how to explain this memory lies, repeated damage, with immense robberies, how spell "democracy" without blood-stained lips, spotless dreams? How not to be ashamed
from the tomb of this evil world calved violated a thousand times a thousand times massacred?
How do we poke the angry rebellion in the land and stop, drop by drop the blood spilled in the name of democracy?
How we do this without getting hurt and failures, without death hurts us, not hurt us this life of flesh, cannon and hunger?

Where To Get Cortsone

3 poems of Ricardo León Peña Villa

Memories


At this time my sky is December and light chocolate
gun
Apollo II rocket holding

polystyrene beads as men on the moon.


At this time my heart trembles and gunpowder
breaks silence
no Christmas. At this time



am a grateful child's father dying,
of
love stories and life.


Testament

When I die

pay for the cremation will be my treasure.

A cardboard box crammed with papers that history
stained yellow color
time.

They
ashes be mixed with bare soil.

If the flowers arrive,
have I been so displayed. If weeds

there is nothing to say.


My

autistic child spit on
ashtray butts for
disgusted and thus deepen the anguish of dirty today


starting autumn and their ordeal.


luck The shock death

my skin
telluric
thrilling bursts my heart slow.

In one of these
I'll start with me exfanfarria

poetry drunk or laughing.

of thirty-three (New York: Flight Log, 1996)

Peopel Posting Numbers On Facebook

6 / 2009

this photo we took at the subway entrance Revolution in Mexico City in June 2009. I have the swollen and Ricardo wheel is about to return to New York after his ten days in Mexico. I discovered yesterday stuck in the fridge of his house, next to another photo of Nicholas removing the lengualarga. has been beautiful and difficult and necessary to come to walk these streets again to reconnect with him, being with Natalia, Luis, Nicolas and Diego (us, his children volunteers, friends), Tata finally meet and hug, go to a birthday party Jose Osorio's house, walking in Central Park and call her mischievous spirits, unable to avoid the tear crazy talking to the bright Nanda, read their poems in a different light. I love the writings of the ñ in the wall of Umbrella, I love your occurrences still tear me laugh. poet, I love you endlessly and I'm super lucky to have been your friend. left us an unusual family. How beautiful you are!

(it seems that the fifth photo in the series was a premonition.)

Source Of Energy In Wetland

night without removing

night until the night arrives and is elusive.
resigned from the oracles and I am lonely.
not want to be in the street. I
adding aircraft to my schedule.
this script to who why how long.
this script with back pain.
now, I can only talk to her.

an altar happy to ricardo lion.
new technology. Xavier
some videos of reading his poems.
off my remote.
baskets, cans and wooden boxes.
paper prints that are good for something.
an insect flew into my room

and flies.