One day, maybe today,
I won’t mix up the levels anymore, up is not up,
only the one who climbs knows….
I will braid the hands of the clock without making knots
and I will want to want, learning to understand the hesitations of the scales…
the balance means death, the tossing is breathing
with both nostrils.
I demand too much from my feelings when
I ask that they drag me, increasing my aura, that they bring me abundance, yet,
their parade shows me naked – only I see myself dressed in pompous garments..
there are no hopes without deceiving, nor sensations without illusions
the heart is a nursery for fears and desires often times a waste
I demand a surrealistic body, to fit fineries and joys
and they don’t exist as simple or complex, the joy is one – I exist
I won’t find amongst…
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