Who is sadder?
Who is sadder than a Monday?
Visiting empty-handed like a lonely frog,
Cold beneath desires
Nowhere to go, but
To follow a Sunday,
A new one every week.
Who is sadder, than a circle?
Mating its own lunacy
Forgets where is the head,
Where lies the tail, a search
Over and over again,
Who is sadder than the horizon?
Meet in fantasy,
Part in real,
Tears and laughter —
Once, I was both you and me,
Who is sadder than us?
I am faithful to this room,
More precisely this window,
Every morning I rise
To the life outside in dust,
Lovely girls flirting over lovers in their palms,
Young boys stand with their backs to me – pee on the roadside bushes,
Buses run heavy with school children,
Honking at the sight of women with delicious curves.
I am faithful to this window
Because lowlights trick the mirrors,
I close my eyes and fall
Like paid love and discarded self,
I don’t look at the window with my nostalgia,
The window, is, a nostalgia of the window,
I simply look at me and feel the dirt,
Self-portraits turn out best when one owns a window.
At the crossroads I can see girls
Like wormholes on an earthen pile,
Deserted, but plenty,
I feel invited –
Men need to follow smell
Someone must have told me growing up –
Islands are informational in this way,
I still crack my eyes looking at the Sun,
As I walk around the beach in all four,
Barking at the waves with froth on their heads,
To fool men
I can see the girls hiding with red crabs
So many this dawn, shivering in cold,
I sit with my pain, gulping details
A sea brings to waiting throats
Slit in agony of captive souls, bleeding,
Too many waves lap and leave
Traces and stresses,
Bite with false dentures,
Crossroads roam around planets,
Whisper and wait.