Gone with the Wind

I believed in stories with unexpected ending
reading Three Men on the Bummel
and The Good Soldier Švejk in order to cleanse my eyes
from too much Julien Sorel or Emma Bovary
let alone Scarlet O’Hara
I picked chestnuts on the street because they were beautiful
pushing them farther with the tip of my shoes
so I could change something on the world’s chess table

when you pass over thirty years of age it is as if you read words
in an unknown language
you are surprised that you almost guess their meaning
by the way letters are arranged
you think that Chomsky was more right than it seems
about the innate linguistic structures while Piaget
tried to overthrow God and the things that connect with each other
through figures and Orphic or Pythagorean laws
you began to think like others did that the devil
was the first liberal ever

like this there appeared other markets for sacred
or profane beatitudes
people practiced crystal therapy pyramid therapy
all that was missing was women consecrating makeup in the church
because men anyway payed the priests to bless their new cars
and the rosaries on their windshields
willy-nilly everyone believed in their God
they gathered along the mountain brook’s valleys grilling minced meat
only different mixes of different meat
they wore special sunglasses for looking to the eclipsed Sun
the Moon seemed to be dropping down on Earth amid barbecue smoke
children played volleyball and life was a beach life was a sea
where the policemen feud those who did not raise waves

today I dream of an old God
carrying a sack full with inedible chestnuts
on his back

Categories: My poems in 2016, Uncategorized | Tags: | Leave a comment

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