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