The principle of dance and humility

 Road

A look of surprise lights the spark.

 

makes me look

while I unroll my ink

in a corner of the subway car.

 

It is not normal

watch out for the inner grumblers

in this deforested jungle of souls.

 

It is not unusual, however,

staring hypnotically at a light

and

 

Disappear behind any fabric

seems the most logical

it 's crazy,

don't you see it looks good

it is reasonable.

 

I recover old concepts,

walk in common places for me

jump bear traps

and pop poets I put.

 

After all, I'm a minority.

and these places are strange.

 

In this trip

Disconnect the incognito pipes

but now that everyone is hiding

I'm a pink neon beacon

on the darkest shore.

 

it is perfectly legal

they remain undaunted

looking at their own shoes

during ringing.

 

But it seems he is being punished.

observe the environment,

shake the verb shake

and pour a juice of prayers

while the others do not exist.

how much effort

how tight frown

trying to be shadow!

 

There are now hidden trophies

for those who disappear best.

If you want to exist

golden elixir required

or purple nectar

or cheap spirit

mixed with notorious

carbonated liquids.

 

If there is no poison,

you will be crazy

Woe to the tweezers they hold

cultural customs!

 

I laugh at myself

as I write on the bar counter

to not open me on the channel

and hang myself with my guts.

It would be too predictable.

 

Make fun of me, on the other hand,

it turns out to be an unprecedented act.

And I drink plain and beer

to go unnoticed.

Everything is more translucent

imbued with banality.

 

After the recital comes the laughter

and everything is free now

of intervening silence

which creates its own thoughts.

 

finally the end

at last the beginning of the Bacchic ritual,

the principle of dance and humility

that, after all,

that's why we came.

That's why we sold ourselves.

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This tiny iteration of freedom,

that place where I converse with myself,

where I confess my wickedness and my disguise,

that empty lake of loneliness.

This space in which I have time left,

this unfurnished white room

where I dance with dead verbs

and raise my fever volume.

That room where I can scream

where I can offend myself with pride,

where no one can come to me.

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