INSOMNIA POEM

BY

a

SLEEPWALKER

in

the

BATH




I wanted to make a hole
it was not for me.
Standing.
noise
open
the sky.
She was obviously
without socks,
nodes
and knees
and street trees
and leaves

I will remember you.

And tiles,
and insects,
and pockets and buttons,
branches and berry crisp
open
the sugar pack
and shadows,
and memory.
Now I just bought a tongue
too many people
for a moment like this
and steps
and injuries
and smell of run
and noise of fishing rods
in flight.
And tired hands,
and islands of feet
and sleepwalkers
of acrobatic smiles
and heels
and red plates
and scent of chairs
And scribbles
of carrots in the soup
fingers abandoned on the table
and delays
and reasons.
There is a secret.
I think so.
a child
eat whole onions
and lemon peel
on the edge of
a sink,
another child
tries put on the stop himself
with the helmet of an hair dryer
A grandmother is dissolved
Her effervescent feet
in the basin of the 'salad.
a television
is frying
switch off
in the corner of the kitchen
and deep sofas
and armchairs
stinging,
imbued
of the scent of women's tights.




When I try to remember
the exact sequence of events,
my memory
becomes
a silent movie.
I can only
Remember
The silent
as well as
A photograph is a moral decision
Taken
in one eighth
or one-sixteenth
or in a or one hundredtwenty-eight
shapes and colors
recorded by the motion and the case
in the clutches of an hated metamorphosis





Smelling room
Powder.
Fingers of dust.
More than a lot of flies.
A dream of waste and forgotten.
Unconscious.
Not a black box or a white sheet
A living room
Full of cupboards
Clearing clothes.
I dress myself with blankets
silently.
just an old empty pot.
collected minutes.
air.





hands
knives
spoons,
forks

eaten
on
Sunday.
the
Tetra-pac
It
becomes
Chewable.
the
sex
It
replaced
by
an Alter-Ego
virtual
hermaphrodite
The
kisses
are
changed
in
telepathic
contacts
I
always
hoped
in
a
minute
of
this
Genre.
I have
To say
that
i’m
always
very
far
from
understand
Why
I can
wake up my self
in the
Morning.