Monthly Archives: July 2012

Compulsory


they have exiled me
in a city with glass pavements
from my yesterday remained
only expired oxygen
I’m breathing rarely from the depths
like a diver
only through a mask
anyway no one recognize me
neither do I

people carry one sun ball
instead of their heart
they walk on tiptoes
unwinding little by little
entangled threads behind them
forgotten words in the Tower of Babel
feelings in a big kneader

I’m stepping from knot to knot
with naked soles softening
crumpled by too much heat
like newborn wrinkles

I started to talk in my mind
learning the deaf alphabet
my shadow abjured me
she stays hung without tongue
on the Pole Star

not even she can remain here
still and nailed

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The Rails


I stopped wanting
and the rest is forgotten
my temples sweat when I must
wish for something
even the gravity law seems an obstacle
too big for my fall

I lost almost all my dreams
buried in old rubble
like a deflated ball of an orphan child
running after wild raspberries
until the storm was unleashed

probably in the depths
through the sewerage system
they are transmitting
the despair Morse code
the blood pulse unwillingly pumped
the dreams lost like too large bracelets
found again only in someone else’s yard
smelling like mud and rust

I want no more bitter or sweet taste
I’m swallowing like a paralytic
one mouth full of air at a time
without waking up or getting asleep

with my head stuck on the rails
I’m hearing
coming back from the mountains
a very slow train

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Stamped Future


I bought from the antiquarian
The Portrait of Dorian Gray
with rancid leaves like stamps
in an ancient collection

I ran home scampering
it was smelling like jasmines
at the corners
on the labyrinth streets
hidden in the big city
in my dress flounces

after the first chapter it started to rain
I was reading the ragged book
under the lamp shade
with dead butterflies
nibbling like a mouse
memories from the future

a gray cat in a window
was looking beyond curtains
my thoughts
like snails with sinusitis
crawling on the moist asphalt
without hearing a thing

sometimes the world is
a mirror
with shriveled silver

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