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.