Only on the news do I know names and people
how was the labyrinth of glass, in the park, of mirrors
even knocking found the way out.
Because I don't have the exit now –
it's called network,
cuts an exact square
and a place that is omnipresent.
Or am I the background white
in the hall of mirrors,
diagonal and metallic incision
on earth, narrow around the body
with the neons that made indistinct
the skin and the air like a transparent shadow
that follows each one, but when he turns around he is not there.
And there the piece of old coin,
the bronze circle with the dolphin
was fallen to the ground
when we were neighbors on the way out,
and in order not to lose it, we abandoned it.
There, exactly, I believed
in a language for everyone
identical to the air in mirrors,
from the inventor of the labyrinth to our sweaty hands
who protected the forehead:
error or deviation,
but it was solidity
bump the forehead sometimes
before arriving.
And on the way out of the park, the master of crepes,
the pebble in the circle as the dark platform
where do you throw and catch
and you lose, and then the gym shoes
about the pebble and the right month
november – always a rite
while time is now threadlike
and the right feelings that everyone can capture
and see so alone in infinity
network – or, sometimes, in balance,
someone who returns the coin.
About the Creator
MecAsaf
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Comments (1)
This was awesomeeee! Loved your poem!