I have a wallet where I concealed
after minutely has been selected
my nightmares by dreams
in the middle of every night
my children search for inside it
and step around something
that only they can see
which would be the meaning
of their concentric walking?
how many putrid rats
how many falling stars
would been extricate out?
I cannot stroke them
I didn’t find out the solace
for the concentric motion
I am bounding my tongue is bulging
by frosted unpronounced words
the memories are breaking out
within flesh incurable wounds
*
usually I look for a fulcrum
however, my palms are always sweaty
I sit tight as if the floor would falter me
alike a carriage off by a train
on its own road to nowhere
I shall loose my footing
and my face will fall towards the window
maybe you are frightened for death
I am frightened for the window
that ugly look from the window
my youth’s bugaboo
who postpones the red apple
from which I shell bite
my remembrances
together all of the sudden
those remembrances for which
love cannot be a remedy
remembrances sorted with such a care
the cupboards crepitate
on my bed crumbles
a nightly butterfly
*
I forcefully inspire and open my eyes
taking in my hands the sore’s edges
looking outside just for a second
I let in my face
inside the past buried within me
black and tangled up grasses
among which are laying my memories
alike children hardly abandoned
premature born or disavowed
I decided to take them one by one
to give them life from mine’s
to foment and bring them up and thus
me redeeming my punishment
they redeeming their reclusion
to start together freely out of illusion