Straightforward Poem by Julio 2 Amarante

Enumerating the Botany of the place,
This God forsaken garden of bad seeds,
Pointing each species at e real slow pace,
At the same time feeding the brain that bleeds.

Her head was full of junk like a sucker for pain.
She felt joy, the moment of the killing strike
The race of rage and outrageous revolt,
Sensed it as a warm place to aim.
5o. now, the utterly emotional exhaustion, thunder as an cold bolt.

Her mind was no escape
Meet 'Das Ding an Sich'
The thing was not in itself,
The thing has gone rogue.

Her interest in Heidegger 'Zein und Zeit'
Existentialism or structuralism,
'Lá histoire de la Folie et Foucault' s' anti-humanism'
Which was object of her speed reading,
Nothing came vis a vis after the killing.
'We all descend of a long race of murderers',
She used to bloat in scenes of 'polite drunk essays'.

Now it didn't matter whose descent she was.
For the murderer was the actual woman,
Not some abstract idea cornered into cogitation,
reality of a half severed head tight to a body
in a abject posture on the permafrost ground.

the tundra echoed with sounds
when putting her into the surface
to hard to dig by hand and knife
only a few branches and stones.
predators will soon open the wounds,
Magic resonance by jaws and bones.