Tuesday, January 03, 2017

The Balancing Pole




The Balancing Pole


I get tired
of searching for a scene
where my number flows
of confusing stomach growls
with cranes in mid-flight
of lukewarm drinks
and beer without foam
tomatoes without flavor
and another full moon
that brings no sighs
nor the memory of a cuddle.
I get bored of not agreeing
of bending my head
to interrogate meridians.
Meanwhile, my palm looks
for the balancing pole,
the breath.


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