why do you search for my
trachea
if it’s in the same place
as your own
why do you insist on staring at me
if in the end I’m merely a mirror
where are you taking me by the hand
to what important place
try to understand
that I don’t have all
night
and that I am hiding
a hole
not the one in the
mouth, or the ass
me and my laters, me and my
pleadings, me and my odd
appetites
some
tides
never
stop
coming
me and your words
and wet gleams,
me and the places
I go to
me, me, me
foolish
me
in the center
of the maddened beat and of the opposite
sides and of the shutting of the eyes in order to keep them inside
but pretending that’s not it
pretending I want to get them out
there I always was
and it passed through so quickly
that I never knew if I saw it
the ones I saw at thhe beginning
who came back at the end
the one who told me something incomprehensible
and then fell on the floor
the one with the chains and the obvious costume
the one who was always sideways
and I didn’t know if he was handsome
from the front as well
the one with the cap and smile
who took me by surprise
the one who seemed like but wasn’t
the one who turned out to be an insider
and the one with the tight laugh
who wanted something from me
why am I mad
at all of them?
and at the place and the night
and few hours of sleep
and why is it an anger that hides
and how does it manage to twist
me inside
without me realizing
what do you mean it’s not
morning yet?
you might take many things out of me but not
the grey and blue between buildings
as we came out the door
morning did want to come
to find me, to tell me something
but there were too many buildings
in the way
and I only got the grey
and blue
