I left my memory in the hallway, like a forgotten raincoat
I left my memory in the hallway, like a forgotten raincoat,
With feelings shattered in plates, an alphabet of cold shards,
The soul left, a small coin, slips into the palm of evening,
A tip for a waitress with a smile of burnt lace.
Her eyes, shiny marbles on the green table of chance,
Her upright torso, an icon impaled on the world’s panel,
My fingers counted on the chipped keys of the piano,
Learning a dark symphony, long as a tunnel.
The sheet music rains on handkerchiefs, litanies piercing silence,
Tears are needles, extracting old oaths from the skin,
From above descends a god of mixed pronouns,
With so many "you" and "I" that the sky becomes a landlord.
Truths flow dry, like fishless rivers,
My lies, plump, chew on neuron branches,
I froth them on my lips, chalices of vapor and bitter salt,
To carry extinguished mornings on my back, stamps on the calendar.
My dreams undress memories, leaving their skin wet,
A present past, drowned in muck of broken clocks,
Whispers composed from the panic of shadows, with rebellious lips,
That bite the night and spit out empty constellations.
I return on the corridor of fog, with my alphabet steps,
To take my memory home, to pour it a cup of stars,
But the key doesn’t fit the lock: I am the lock, I am the key,
And my home is a song that sings without end.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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