I dive

I dive

into those tiny pitfalls that set us up for life,

traps as small as the cages to hunt sparrows.

Some days, on specific days, Mondays and Fridays,

when opening my balcony, I look and see

with all my senses, hear with all my senses,

smell with all the senses. I am a stubborn fiddle

in evidence, a delusional excuse

and life flips on me like a card game.

It makes me fall in love with new lips,

hurries and makes me as essential

as driving credentials, a: here is my hand,

my millions of hands.

My skin quivers with infinite pity.

Humankind kills, dies, lies, steals, gives up

with its back to Beethoven's Ninth

in the voracious desire for permanence.

Confuses freedom with movement.

Sleeps armed against other men

and against the little man inhabiting

the clearest corners of my chest

despite that music, despite the sun

that rises. Despite the fierce, clean, morning Ode

to Joy denying the spoils of yesterday's dinner.

Life today presents itself in a costume

and I know it's a trap. But I give in,

get drunk, and accept any kind of a truce.

I'm a spiral, a seesaw, a chorus, because when

I open the balcony door, when I look, see,

listen, and smell with all my senses, and know

life has taken out a deck of cards from its sleeve,

all I can do is beg in my favor.