Directive



The walk takes place along an escarpment with no visible end
Step by step, hand touching the encoded dreams to move
The vacuum is not dark
The vacuum is a loophole in which the fall is invisible, hold on

I obey myself beck and call
Program rigorously the mend, the careful control of time
Finding myself back in a fabric cut into thin strips
Devoted razors that had left some blue scars, before

I take the countless echos of the real in my arms and shape them
At the minute, I listen to each of their beats
Leave in the ditch the allegiance to fear
And try to half open the heavy curtains of abandoned scenes

I walk in jolts, discrete outputs
I'm ahead of scheduled outdated defeats
With envy as a water point, to sit on the shady ferries
At last. Returning to the offshore breathing





June 2015