#7

I to be one with earth machine 

I to be one before fruit to fall 

I to find what I mean with clay 

and to coil my hidden fruit 

when are the numbers to arrive? 

numbers to be code 

code to darken water 

with electrical and with mechanic 

with my life root 

my smooth target root 

I to have to be to be 

consume I to be complete and red

and I to lead myself to edge

to the edge of man unreadable 

and coal and hydraulic

and I to drag the hills of ant 

beneath black the filter sky

I to the sadness of transport 

and I to the weight of rammed earth 

 

  
 

Mánchese surrounds to me so in a cardboard box when I wake up 
  

I can slowly be disturbed to my exit my low equation of the freedom 
  

that filters I or that no wings required I of the organic containers 
  

underneath the world fuming to take alcohol sleeping opiated and 
  

strong box of stigma under the new sky an accumulation of the 
  

moss of cinamomo and blue atmospheric of the old sky 

but now going lifemare dying a memory a new body no body 
  

a change of the blood a loose pen a demonstration of the rock 
  

against the putting of the sun without the ocean a new sense of... 
  

being dyed with the clouds of the reason that do not need 
  

the phosphorus and the lightening rubbed slightly until the 
  

breathing broken last ready I with the cloth of the water of the 
  

dirt in worms of the good mother collapses deeply deeply 
  

finely deeply and good hot loose earth.
 
 
  

Life:  Explained

A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them. 

"Not very long," answered the Mexican. 

"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American. 

The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.

The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?" 

"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs. I have a full life." 

The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat."

"And after that?" asked the Mexican. 

"With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge new enterprise." 

"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican. 

"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American. 

"And after that?" 

"Afterwards? Well my friend, that's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start buying and selling stocks and make millions!" 

"Millions? Really? And after that?" asked the Mexican. 

"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends." 

And the moral of this story is: ......... Know where you're going in life... you may already be there.