nailon

in one moment I am,
in the other
I am not.

I would drown in here,
always–
always like this I would go down.

among the waves.
being and not being
holding — breaking
letting go,
raising.

it feels like nailon;
all of it.

water that caresses my hand–
people,
my feet on the boat, boat on the water–
existence,
sky playing in different tunes,
memories,
and the idea of diving,
dreams…

nailon.

soft at times,
cuts you at times,
strangles you,
chokes you,
then it lets go.

surprised.
always.
how prima-materia creates
things that are not:
thoughts, emotions…
products without base.
means of production, yes. but no base. nothing at all.

(I should stop this, now.
or it will keep on going,
and I don’t love writing enough.
I can’t be writing all the time.)

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