Poesis

Let’s sit down this time
on uncomfortable wooden chairs
and listen.
For once, the poet standing in front of you
is loose in the city
with no clothes on.
The circus is over,
the laughter has now replaced
the thick-white silence in which
you hear each other breathing.

Let’s sit and look up
at the stretched rope between cement and glass
and observe the holding hands soldiers
flying into the cracked sun.

I follow them slowly
with measured jumps
thinking that poetry does exist
by itself.

My words leave tiny reflections
on your naked bones and
once I am completely gone,
absorbed by the rarefied air,
each of you will remember only
the dust particles which
used to have my name: noun.

Now they returned to the womb
sharp verb, consequence
of listening
of reflection
of explosion
of language.

I am what none of you can face.
You are all going in different directions
looking to find me
in nothing.

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