Bolivia
No queda más aire
¿Cuantos quedan y cuantos son
Los que se fueron?

[Jack Kerouac:]
"Praised be the unfolded inside petal of flesh of tend'rest thought. Petrels on the follying wave-valleys idly sing themselves asleep. Praised be delusion, the ripple. Praised be the Holy Ocean of Eternity. Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again. Dipped in acid inkl. The flam'd of Tim. The Anglo Oglo Saxon Maneuvers of Old Poet-o's. Praised be wood, it is milk. Praised be Honey at the Source. Praised be the embrace of soft sleep, the valor of angels in valleys of Hell on Earth below. Praised be the Non-ending. Praised be the lights of Earth-man. Praised be the watchers."

An opened face on the rock
Lunar rocks
Falling from the sky
The tearing of a dry
One-eyed animal
Few crumbs of yesterday
On the tip of his tongue
Smells the semen in your hair
Your eye is pale and white
It contains all the misery of this place
Road finally opens
And this blindfolded man
Which cut the veins
And the moon says:
"Are they enough?
And how many are they?"

"Are they enough?
And how many are they?"
Me too, I strip their inside skull
Until the roof of night
When the rain screams
"Are they enough?
And how many are they?
And how many are they?"
He still in here watching over your eyes
Buried he's still in here
Behind those glasses
In which you look for yourself
What did you dream about?
Approaching to the dream of dead
He's still in here watching over your eyes
He's still in here watching over your eyes

Am I your face?
Am I your blood?
Am I your veins?
Am I your memory now?

Please tell me what I am now
Please tell me what I am...
How many are they now?
If this the haze all over their heads?