indifference used to be
the prison,
but now
it is
the
fuel.
it used to be a heavy weight,
but now I can fly
far
away;
in short:
weakness
into
strength.
and for those
still trapped,
I say,
everything can be
an asset:
fear,
pain,
weakness of will,
or of the physical.
all from Nature,
at your disposal,
night or day.

the couple of times per year
when I return to Lisbon
I wish for my mother
to again be my alarm clock
just as she was
when I was little
I suspect this annoys her
for I am much older now
I should know better
but I cannot quantify that comfort
of her voice, lifting that burden
if only briefly
even if she does so
chiefly
I couldn’t explain it well
that feeling
and admittedly
not much time has passed
since then
except now
when I brush my hair
the first white strands
leave my head

that which is naturally salient to you
informs you of your past
that which you choose to be salient to you
shall carry you forward
the fact you can even choose
or even just being aware
of such a term - salience
is perhaps the greatest tool
contained in just
eight letters

we keep changing the names
of things
as if better semantics
will help us change our nature
but whether you call it
emotion overflowing reason
the furies awakening
having one's buttons pushed
or getting triggered
the human condition
remains
unadulterated
pure
its essence stubbornly
bare

'I think I have hemorrhoids'
I said
'oh my gawd key-koh, I have them too'
she replied
'we're hemorrhoids buddies now'
I finalized
as I also realized
we were two strangers in the metaverse
talking about *******
and from all the possible friends
this twelve year old kid
was the only one around
what a loser I must be, what a perv
even though I just wish she'd logged off
and be safe(r) in the real world
I guess I'm too old to care anymore
even if the topic is hemorrhoids
as long as the place it's coming from
is honesty and benevolence

hunger elevates the meal
the brief respite
a welcome sight
the subtle art of the deal
between beast and human
kind is the fire
roasting such feast
but kinder is the period
in-between
the gap, the void
the wrestling
a contrast of scarcity
and plenty
the simple meal
rising to a level of kings
available to all
who delay gratification
with the power of will

the slow closing of a heavy glass door
the humming of the air conditioner
the distant banging of construction work
the occasional hurried or lazy steps
just outside
on the sidewalk made of cobblestones
a child's voice mildly annoyed
tires on the road
and a gentle honk
diffused chatter melting in the background
the exact anxious business chatter of an interior design store
the frequencies I don't hear anymore
from flickering lights
rustling clothes
breathing in and out of noses
all of this in an instant
a moment
in a late morning
of the childhood neighborhood
as they discuss the furniture for the new home
away from the memory, from the past,
filled with a promise
hoping this time it will
last.