This is my stage - this room and the next, This balcony, this shelf full of books. The light will be on for eighteen more days. Act natural, I tell myself, the world is your audience. Be the character you would like to be remembered for.
It takes twenty-one days to form a habit Or break one - Like opening the door, Making plans, Shaking hands, Eating out, Hugging friends, Walking on the street, Breathing.
Wake up. The sky is blue. Can you spot the moon? It's still there, isn't it, Round and thorny, crown-like? Who wants to wear it? Forget it. It's a new day, The first Of twenty-one. This is a new poem. Let's not write of old things.
I'll love you for thousand springs With despise winter and summer we'll live. I'll be the brief, the medium Of the moment We collide in the space Under the damned roof Making our own bed Of hell in life, All together in another dimension And I want to write All the discrete touches, The humming kisses, The smothering ties of our finger skin, The doses of dreams, Igniting needs.