Not a wooden tongue

 Tireless talk of life. Of instant words. Watery and vibrant. Saliva does not coagulate. Nor infarction of the muscle of the tongue. Authentic true black on white. Warped her. I don't know in She takes no chances, that tongue. Nor is it dragged (it is not a dragged, in the expression in Spain). No treacherous bone tongue. Not a wooden tongue. The coconut is known; Own; as if he had given birth to it. That is to say, the tongue of muscle and saliva knows the coconut itself as if she herself had given birth to it without having to go to where Christ lost his flip-flop and his body, nor on the third day in which he lost his body without stretching the leg or both, with forgiveness of all the sins that we have conceived. With this litany that leaves us with the fly behind the ear and the hive of bees inside the labyrinth of the ears, there is not even God, our father, blessed be He, who understands the happy sayings that no one translates for infant children. full of his ignorance. Brushing his future understanding along the way, which, as idealism deduces, promised. Without having the option of being Swedish, the ignorant infans of all human geography iron their ears, theirs and their own, to sing like a parrot about «Seafood fabric: How complicated everything is!» this intricacies of “bablar umano”.

Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.