So deeply, to get out of the zoo…

Turning, whistle and snore, 

That crowd no talking… 

To wait for not words, 

Through grey-green… crown fire. 

Old trees, 

Making no noise, 

Altho to the oak, 

A family…  

A tower…

All things are right… 

…Hovers the night, 

Twisted trees, 

Dim flats woodlands, 

Recede. 

Recede. 

Recede.

But does not love them, 

A Guide to the Maximus,  poems of Lyric and travels. 

By Carlos Acevedo lugo

No Figure out Press $50.00

All thing are right, 

suddenly is the beginning, 

The eight books crowded, 

Charles devoted to the black mountain, 

Remark that Olson settle on once, 

Exclusion or any purpose…