Thursday, August 3, 2017

Restitutions Comments

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I pretend that everything lost becomes a poem.

Wounds like hurricanes have a name. And even though I ignore that around me abysses are born, I was originally blemished by happiness, by its inclement summit.
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Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
fog guilt happiness memory rose silence Flowers Wounds Desperation
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Gonzalo Márquez Cristo

Gonzalo Márquez Cristo

Bogotá
Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
Bogotá
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2/14/2026 2:38:58 AM # 1.0.0

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