then I look for bridges

​

I go up and across

and if the soil was indeed clay, what a beautiful sculpture in its negative.

our complementarity has a shape

it is us and the space that our bodies open

dancing among themselves and between things

it is the tail of our movements that becomes autonomous

and the shape takes on a name, like something completely novel

​

​

​

I sing softly in tongues, before the radar

catches my frequency but, of course,

some random ear will always hear

and hold you accountable for the language

it happened to catch

[and how can I explain that, no, that’s not what I meant,

the timbre was off,

and I have already consumed this

sensitive part of time in the conversation where

there is sparkle, freshness, fluidity, then

the discussion will immediately ripen

and drop on the ground

we will explain ourselves, reconsider, take things back

excuse you, excuse me

because in the end we said nothing, we only

got to know each other better for a moment

I only learned how much you care if I misjudge you

and you learned nothing, 

you only saw me struggling, becoming tongue tied and

maybe you found me a little silly or somewhat superficial or

anyway we said nothing much

or terribly unexpected

and it ended around there]

​

​

​

​

I gallop and evade because I get tired, to be honest,

maybe because I would actually like to,  I would rather

talk only about myself, carelessly, selfishly, 

I take leaps and plant kilometers between them

it’s because I have this crazy notion about myself,

something transcendent

as if once you turn away,

the wind will come and gather and lift me

in the midst of your sentence and

I work, I work, I'm in motion, I talk, but

every now and then I stop and wait

I listen, I listen, to recognize

the sound, some new sound, some so far unknown

sound, the sound that

​

​

​

will strike inside me, it will strike

on something familiar to it and something

unknown to me, something I forgot about and that’s why

the groove under the nose and above the mouth

like the dogs, I keep it wet

and there I’ll smell it, a new bright air

that will travel for millennia without stopping

always finds some new surface

to hit with great momentum, to receive new impetus,

swirls in the straits,

dives into the sea,

revolves around the earth

a decisive wind collecting

the memory of the whole world

and always sustains its life,

to live and not die out, to run

appearing once in a while, but I know it'll be back

to grab us

I stop, sit and wait

for the air to grab me, the singing, the fragrant

from one moment to the next, it will take me

​

​

​

I will hover and fly

we’ll fly till I’m gone

I wait for the wind to grab me

as if it were my fate 

as if everything else is a mere distraction

just to pass the time,

because I’m just biding my time

I wait around

until the wind comes to pick me up

​

​

​

I take care of the longing alone and 

I long for my absence

so that you miss me, I think over

and I long to hear myself speak

about me, a cut-off perspective

refined, sophisticated

with such spontaneity in this sophistication

to such people as me

and after all, as you, you see it

everything is weighed in and redefined

and cancels itself out

so interconnected in an arbitrary

tight inner logic which

without question

we make everything our own,

everything is offered to us,

whether to embrace or reject,

even then it’s even more ours

because we discard it easily at a tidal speed

the fugitives,

and they’ll hold us accountable

and we’ll have to reveal that we did not really know

as

deep

and we’ll admit a forced retreat

​

​

then lay me down softly,

to welcome this thought, this controversy,

to refine it and find the answer that

universally and irrevocably

stuns you and universally and irrevocably

includes all my principles and observations,

my refined taste, my progressive ideas

and after,

after waking up from the fever

I'll be looking tο regroup,

because I can’t stand the shock it causes me

this challenging of my authentic perspective, in fact

I wanted you until you gave me the stimulus

to say my own thing and I refrain

from learning from others,

I want to anticipate their question

and to have all the answers in advance 

and that means I’m digging into a material unknown 

 

​

​

I'm Listen

​

let me bring my gifts to you

a sweet little lover

what’s it like to know i'm thinking about you?

I knew you as I slept, we slept

with lines of escape in my mouth

and the reins of all of the world's contentment

in your hands

I’ve burned holes where you’re carefully treading,

I’ve walked before, looking for the truth in the past

as you’re about to fall in, I adore you from the sidelines

I wanted you until you mirrored me

in this vulnerable moment, this careless step,

this blunder

I'm microdosing nostalgia

​

​

​

​

you must have an appetite for working

and i have an appetite for working

i don't need rest

i want to work hard, to work, i look forward to being productive at work,

i look forward to working productively

and then to pass the assessment review and prove,

based on data and graphs, 

just how productive i've been

not a single rollback will be displayed on the graph

of my annual productivity report

 

​

​

in my state of panic, I miss the monoliths,

I always forgot things,

a taste or a noise colors the instinct,

and right now i wanted to say something specific but

I forgot

I spend the day standing and dreaming

I have to speak fast so as to not forget 

or louder so that others don’t forget

not to be forgotten 

​

​

​

I always forgot various important events, she says

but I'm adamant, I think I know it all and

I feel it all

and I can predict it all,

and then she mentions something that happened years ago and I had no idea,

I see many things in my sleep

years before or years after

and I immediately forget those dreams too

I now remember “fluffy”, the little boat in the port,

I remember a blue dress

which she’d said was her engagement gown, but

I remembered wrong,

and now I’ll be wearing it

now that she washed it and put it in my suitcase,

I try to remember what I left here and there,

things things

that's why I always carry loads with me

in case I need it

I recently thought that you too

have a deep connection with things because

you never throw anything away

and I'm worried

that you’ll become a hoarder,

you make treasured out of all things,

the ice cream sticks next to the bed,

melted paper, coins, fluff from your pockets,

none of it you ever think of throwing away

nor the sole shoe

even if you don’t want to go around barefoot

​

​

​

you go down the stairs, you go, go down the stairs,

they prepare a drink for you,

all the gentlemen wear their hats in the salon

and the band plays parade music,

then again everyone retreats in the corners

if they are to be touched

all the while, glances are exchanged out in the open

and the spectacle is offered to everyone

you then tried to set your boundaries clearly, prudently, logically

​

​

​

your dark eyes,

a sight for sore eyes,

you said you’d keep yourself company,

and you graciously handled my condescension.

you prefer to look for the novelty,

the re-unnamed, indivisible

on an unwritten piece of paper

 

and of course I long for my absence but,

in addition to being swallowed up

by your treasures,

I'm afraid you’ll become a savage too

deliberately and often imagining you with others

because this thought seems to me romantic,

since my romance makes you romantic too

and adorable too,

alone in everything

​

a vulnerable protagonist