from the sewers, stories came marching in like a revenge, with their huge flags, in bold letters, they’ve found me, and i became their unwilling target, they pushed me in the corners, violate me relentlessly, and tied me to a table, and offer me to the void of the planets.
they read before me irritating verses, enumerated my sins, and spoke lengthily of the obscurity of my silence.
These stories in vivid colors, i retorted – i did not seek solitude for religious purposes , but solely to avoid people and their laws, their teachings, their traditions, their ideas, their clamor, and their wailing.
What are the laws that kept me silent for a long time? the poetics of anger? or the poetics of poverty? the night just caught me somewhere.
The night became O
enclosing us in an eternal embrace
you spread your feet wide as your name, it is immense even in abbreviations.
pardon me, sometimes incoherence is an anthem that would want to stick its nose on your skins.
1. remember those months when hunger came like a delayed menstruation
2. think of all those who left you because poetry is a lie and a tragedy
3. think again and allow yourself to be lured again by the promises of words becoming flesh like a bladed weapon that cuts your chest open so the world can see how inglorious the beatings of your heart looks
4. count how many times you were made to believe that longing is alcohol induced and is manufactured by those who made us believe that we can don wings when remembering is a lightning – sudden and without notice
5. smile and recall the conversations you had with friends in onw hurried afternoon, and how everything was shared unabashedly without fear that tomorrow, all those kneeling around you will be inundated with grief , as if it is a gift that christmas failed to deliver
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.