I close my eyes to listen to my roots, the roof over my head an illusion that did not hold up, I would take somebody else’s voice to fill the guest card and then lay down, exhausted, in my dark stories.
looking for (something) finding (it) crossing (it) out reformulating (it) doing (it) again finding (it sometimes)
following out of the corner of the eye, pretending that it is just following the flow of the water
You visit me at night, mostly, a shadow, the past. Another life, maybe. I wake up panting. What for ?
But cabbage trees surely have a soul
I will chisel sentences, like leaves on trees, placed one by one, like commas, between the emotion of their existence and vain attempts, I will place words on the passage of time