Daughters of Zion with Magenta Lipstick......SABOR OR TASTE OF FALSE ASTROLOGIES, OF CUSTOMS SOMEWHAT GLOOMY POURED INTO THE INTERMINABLE AND ALWAYS CARRIED TO THE SIDE, i HAVE RETAINED A TENDENCY, A SOLITARY TASTE. OF CONVERSATIONS AS WORN OUT AS OLD WOOD, WITH THE HUMILITY OF CHAIRS, WITH WORDS OCCUPIED IN SERVING AS SLAVES WITH SECONDARY WILLS, HAVING THAT CONSISTENCY OF MILK, OF DEAD WEEKS, OF THE AIR ENCHAINED ABOUVE THE CITIES. WHO CAN BOAST OF A MORE SOLID PATIENCE? PRUDENCE WRAPS ME IN A COMPACT SKIN WITH A COLOR COILED LIKE A SNAKE: MY INFANTS ARE BORN FROM LONG REJECTION: AH, WITH A SINGLE DRINK I CAN DISMISS THIS DAY THAT I HAVE CHOSEN, EQUAL AMONG EARTHLY DAYS. i LIVE FILLED WITH A SUBSTANCE OF COMMON COLOR, SILENT AS AN OLD MOTHER, A PATIENCE FIXED AS A CHURCH SHADOW OR A REPOSE OF BONES,I GO FILLED WITH THOSE WATERS, DEEPLY ARRANGED, PREPARED, FALLING TO SLEEP IN A SAD ATTENTION. IN MY GUITAR INTERIOR THERE IS AN OLD AIR, DRY AND RESONANT, REMAINED, MOTIONLESS, LIKE A FAITHFUL NUTRITION, LIKE SMOKE; AN ELEMENT AT REST, A LIVING OIL: AN ESSENTIAL BIRD WATCHES OVER MY HEAD: A CONSTANT ANGEL LIVES IN MY SWORD. by miguel copyright by Michael Forbus.