V

It is time to fall

And falling means

Not flying.

II

We depend on

The magic wand and the miracle-worker divine’ hand

Because, at this point,

We are like rabbits in a galley

I

And she suddenly

Falls silent

Refusing to say anything

‘I leave you’

were her last words.

And I ask myself

What kind of strange fanatism

Moves her to punish herselves

In this way.

III

In the sunrise

The straitjacket

Of the night

The ruins of silence

In my throat

The cold of being alone

Drifted

The blind eyes

In front of the same things

The things in the right place:

The cigarrete, the coffee,

You,

The poem.

IV

She has cut her wrists

Three times on the same place

She finally got it

It is said that she used to say:

‘Sometimes it is necessary

ride the same way

once and again

to find what you are looking for’.

Just things

The night is a train and a bell. I sleep next to a hydraulics bomb. There is a huge tree which crosses the dreams roads. The sun looks like your eyes little girl! The South’ nails scratch my head. Things that I tell you in the insomnia hours. I go up to the roof sometimes. My home is enclosed by a wire. Just because, just things that I tell you. From the roof I can see a mountain. Y bought a ladder yesterday. I go to the balcony from the window. The neighborhood’ dogs bark. I have a little transmitter, a flower and a little juggler in my entrails. My veins light in the nights. They are like little incandescent tubes. They are like red hot wires burning me. I cannot be still. I wish I could empty. I wish I was another embalmed monkey. I swear that I cannot dodge and weave this sadness of not having you. Our love is a blue ray galloping in the sky. I found a 60 bus ticket in an old book. I am tired of being in the gravel. I slip all the time. The world has got Cancer. Did I tell you that I love you? Things that I tell you not to tell you… in the hollow, that you miss, the world fits.