the matted throne
the knotted shirt the dripping
was ,dripping from the knots
you kept rehidden ,hidden
from the darkness of the
smoke you left ,your sh
adow painted on the wall
the wall a nostril sleeping
in your closet where the
dampness knotted is ,kno
tted as a stone a st
one hidden in your cheek
,repeated ,cloudy ,green
and thorned ,was the
book you dripped
,tied up beneath the throne
...el fémur de la hija son las cortezas del árbol...
-- El Libro de los Libros de Chilam Balam de Chumayel
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