not exactly OBLIVION

There is a little waiting for me
for the differences and the indifferents
to grow darker
and I open the windows.
It’s not urgent

but I do it for the movement
not to warp.
Borrowing the head
of my former curiosity
I whirl it.
No, not really whirl it.

I menially say
good evening
to all those adulators
of fears, the stars.
No, not really say good evening.

I stitch with a thread of a glance
the little silver buttons of distance
some of them
that are unstitched
are trembling and will delapse.

It’s not urgent.
I do it to prove the distance
how grateful
I am for its tender.

If distance
did not exist
the long-term journeys
would languish.

we would be delivered
home by scooters
as the globe
like pizzas
that our escape had longed.

Our old age
would be like
leeches stuck
on the youth.

and I would be called grandma
since my dawn
by my grandchildren or my loves,
indifferently.

And,
what would the stars be
without
the endorsement
distance provides them.

Terrestrial silvers,
candlesticks and what not, ashtrays
for the furious wealth
throw its ashes
for the admiration
to invest its overvaluation.

If distance
did not exist
nostalgia would talk to us
in the intimate singular.

Its rare anymore
shamefaced contacts
would then fatefully assimilate

gadabout language
of frequency
with our plural need.

Of course,
if distance did not exist
that nigh man
would not be
like a distant star.

he would come
to the cardinal approach
the dreams
would be only two steps far from
his adumbration.

As the
ultimate stampede of soul
would stay
at hand.

Why all this wandering.
There is
enough empty space.

We would go
and
live
in our sunken body.

and the distance
would reincarnate
into a body
with its myth
and its paraphernalia.

If you did not exist,
o distance,
the oblivion would easier

and faster,
rapidly,
pass through
its
hard
durable
adolescence

the one
we due to euphony
call remembrance.

No,
not exactly
remembrance.

I stitch with a thread
of a glance emulations
No, not really stitch.
I menially orbit around
those adulators of time
that I due
to brevity baptized
remembrance.

No,
not really remembrance.
I replenish
shooting stars
with
durable annihilation.

[It’s urgent.*]

not exactly OBLIVION

Κυριακή 6 Ιουλίου 2008