Apostema
in this dark nocturnal quadrant there would be sleep.
but you insist insomnia, thinking random things.
what other fun would you find in yourself?
I mean, something that would avoid the rest, people, objects, processes, abscesses...
but the fact is that there is not always
a self-entertainment spillway
gushing from the cerebral cornucopia,
often a huge hole settles in
where ideas and memories should be,
erasing them like a detergent washes the blemishes,
leaving the void uncomfortable and silent
in which the realization occurs that yes,
you are also threatened by the gaps,
is also inhabited by pockets full of nothing
and at the same time is also the tenant
of abysses filled by an improbable and solid emptiness.
off the cliff and the void
there is this bureaucratic and official world
of standardized acts and feelings,
nothing I can come to feel or do
you have not tried or done,
but what I feel in pain you may have seen in ecstasy,
love things you hate,
smile when you would cry disconsolately,
if the wind whips the antennae of the universe
I find beauty in this terrifying landscape,
but you run and save the children, the world and the sunflowers,
you get lost between verticality
of the buildings that swallow you,
you are always agile in the apartments,
always correct building
what could be a kind of happiness
that I seem to disdain
as I break down and investigate facts and interpretations
of dark thoughts,
as I walk through decorated corridors
just to touch your face with my cold hands.
you are flesh
and I don't even really exist.
Copyright © Marco Chies | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment