A Few Words About Myself

My blood races and spills

Into commonness, mundane morning hours

Unrooted, I am as lonely as the only eye

 

As blind as the man beside himself

Who does not see, the trampled soul

Following steps of other madmen

 

Do you note, behind protruding nostalgia

The kind of grace that moves

Us here or there, or to a bettered obstacle?

 

My blood it races, as a tearful kiss

Through slush and fringe, tunic brawl

Of colors dancing in the pulp of the skies

 

In midnights without volumes

On a new year’s eve, without anyone to love.