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?"