the circles of time so possible. the hero radicalises the mirrors. in the middle of seeing a barricade, we don't know how to overcome it's truth. reality fights with itself. i have no one to cry with. time is dripping. the violence of words. the violence of thoughts. the violence of lies. the violence of dreams. the violence of reducing life to a grammatical structure. the violence of destroying what is real. there is violence on every side. there is hope. words are weapons for massification. the captive mind needs a voice. the innocent mind sleeps in a fragile bed.
i cry alone. you cry alone too. a woman cried alone among passersby. crying together it's unthinkable on an ordinary day. is it freedom that is dripping hour by hour, day by day?
the show goes on, let's make peace a fake in remake. no famine in Gaza cause people got used to eating stones. the news is incessantly breaking. an invisible menticide, our digital fingers won't recognize what kind of substance the skin is. laughter is not enough for everybody.  i watch the clouds decomposing themselves with eagerness. everything is what is supposed to be.  closed minds in closed bodies. birds are carrying our thoughts like broken paddles.
the permafrost of drama can finally see the daylight. violence is unbearable for me. a circle is closing, a new one begins.

I have toast and panick for breakfast
there's so much noise & scrolling without end
(I am/you are/he is just islands in the middle of words and infinite scrolling)
the coffee machines just lost their purpose in radical mornings
time explodes in our veins while
I'm dreaming of  blue hours

the room of tears was waiting for someone suited for grace,
for bridging the gap between our wounds
a dream of togetherness filled with white smoke
the joy winged and grounded
as the immanence of the divine
tears roll with a new hope to find generosity
in the human form

my skin is listening: this
edge of a breath that engulfs us
the hours reclaim their elements
earth, water, air, fire
we don't banish ether from our eyes
with you an apple is a riddle
answers are not separated from questions
some mantras deepen the circle of
what I would say without words

when I closed my eyes I saw her,
the woman traversing his dreams
like the verticality of forests
the one breaking into many
she knits the storms in his fingers
keeps the poems of dawn composed
like the sea keeps the horizon folded into itself
she wears different densities of perfume or none at all
the intensity a mirror, the warmth tangible
and unsure like a velvet smile
her bodies a road map into the serenity of clouds
she is hot like the sand - it is always wild in the light
she fills his skin with her everything again
blackness collapses into wonder
she keeps piercing the name of pain
the semiotic self is rippling into the clarity
of clay

when I close my eyes I saw him
the man traversing her dreams
the one breaking into many
echoes fractals aches &
the vitality of blues

when I hear the wind I wonder about the tales
in the chestnut flowers, they refute their ideal
yet even stones need hope to bloom
history recycles its magnitude,
confuses its layers, refurbishes illusions
with every breath we make history

on these streets I look people in the eye
their frozen smile land in my bones
we look at each other with surprise
this is who we are, for real
sealed wounds are spinning a pain in transition
who can admit the exploitation of dreams,
the violence of lies, the competition of shadows
sitting crossed-legs with eyes closed
what we know we are;  what we don't know we are too
we have such a hunger for the food of life hidden
in a lotus flower

on this hill a poet can see how
the tip of the forest is the dance-floor for light, how
silent sediments don't notice our steps
yes, there are mythologies of darkness in the bracket (some are ready to take the plunge) but
I am here to watch the evening simmering, the light letting go of itself
the tide of sight attuned with the air discarded by trees
my bones run in a depth even when time calls a truce with itself