When I paint my face
I don't become a clown or a Hindu god
but get frightened of myself
I run outside
people move away, they make me feel
that I'm dangerous
it is vibrating in my blood
to the rhythm of the hammers
of the demolition workers behind the fence
In the middle of the city, I am alone
with clenched fists and fire-
breathing curses
no one takes me as I
am, only a policeman stops
me, "Yes, right, I'm okay
it's just paint, I'm almost home
but maybe you happen to know
who I might vote for?"
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 8:09 AM UTC
When I paint my face
I don't become a clown or a Hindu god
but get frightened of myself
I run outside
people move away, they make me feel
that I'm dangerous
it is vibrating in my blood
to the rhythm of the hammers
of the demolition workers behind the fence
In the middle of the city, I am alone
with clenched fists and fire-
breathing curses
no one takes me as I
am, only a policeman stops
me, "Yes, right, I'm okay
it's just paint, I'm almost home
but maybe you happen to know
who I might vote for?"
Collection “Foghorn”
