I looked back and saw what panic is.
I understood why film directors
never manage to recreate those scenes.
In panic we are all children
of the same final silence.
Dismayed children of the machine-gun
and silence.
Panic has no noises,
it is a frantic silence
that spills out of the eyes,
from tense mouths and uncertain noses,
trembling,
with a gesture that wants to say:
(((Do this happen to me, writer, proper citizen, a prop in the payment
of debts, a scholar of art?))).
I hope that someone uniformed
and talented will come to resolve the incident:
(((This way, please, por favor, prego, bitte,
s’il vous plait))).
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoezieI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
