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Might therefore the night become clear
The gestures of departure without any colliding
Might there be only the finding of mentholated air in the halls
And their gleaming elevators
To, it's almost a silence
To have the systole's beatings finally listening to me?
No show to inaugurate
Except the one of my ephemeral game
No evidence to give
On my way to subsist while bending
No exaltation
Nor, is it what is missing?
When everything is simply shaping itself up as exciting?



I come to a country where once I thought I was losing my sap
Dropped here and there on the platforms of a bodiless awaiting
A country where the man was dark and stiff
Up against the question asked to my fate
Writing it without me and leaving me tearing its page to pieces
With my teeth
I return back to where I brandished the alien
As a weapon against oblivion and boredom to exist
My quest for a support has become mild
And with it the grip of the other
The awakening was endless
Plotting a line on the cacophony of the city
I now draw only silent shadows






New York minus five days
 December 2015