What Happens If I Swallow A Sponge?

The traveler forever (just another hanged)

Hangman watching his feet. Even when the storm is about to begin. The wind raises dust around. Below. There are steps that have brought them. There's always been.
In fact, there is much to look: a few stones, the soil dry, the usual cockroaches. Even when it is starting to rain. Hangman does not look up, he looks at his feet. While the first heavy drops crashing the dryness of the wood of the gallows dripping rivulets of mud.

The stranger draws near, sock boots, he asks, his voice is a thousand of those present, What is the guilt that you condemned to the gallows, who transformed the meat that a man did the last time you signal that the boundary of this wilderness. The man who talks about wearing the male force that holds the rope, the broad shoulders of those who know the earth, the hands of those who throughout his life he worked. Door in front of the black mark from the time he left his blue eyes.

But you look at your feet hanging. Even as the water running down the sides of the copious head bowed.
can not answer because the wind is denied to the dead, and as only the dead and the mad and the dogs know, only the wind can lead his answer. Would have a voice choked with nostalgia: for the wife, son, let the veil that separates the worlds.
have been judged as a thief and hung on this hanger, cut their wrists because the blood is able to drain free on the hard earth, the narrow gorge by rope enough to choke, hung like game that I dared to hunt in the land of my lord's meal crows like the deer in my family it was voracious. Mine is the fate of the prey that my lord would never fed but instead had enough of this slaughter their anger.

The stranger heard the wind rising. Beyond the broken body can glimpse the outlines of a settlement, the smoke from the chimneys rises in the midst of the incessant rain. He runs his hand through his thick hair and blacks before resuming his journey in search of a place spend the night. But you look
hanged feet. Even while the man walks away with the mark on the forehead. Along the path. That probably will be forced to take forever.

There's a man hung motionless in the wind

few kilometers outside the city above the clouds no wind
mirror to people who leave.

There's a man hung motionless in the wind

few kilometers outside the city as a sigh, without a voice
found among the bodies
peace talks with the crows on the cross
please a sigh of peace.