on subjectivity

nothing interesting in the movement of hands,
only in what made them tremble, dance.
or the feet, 
the eyes, 
the lips, 
the head, 
the arms, 
the legs, 
the neck, 
the chest;
the only interesting thing in them,
was what picked their interest.


we were always simple

focus on the smoke,
see how it swirls and dances and cries,
watch it move…
it always speaks the truth–
it never lies.

monotonous journey

and one day I create a movie of my own.
where nothing will happen and everything will.
the epitome of boredom it will be.
the cure for insomnia.
no drugs, no pills,
monotony is the best antidote to the deprivation of sleep.


your voice shivers when you say words you’re uncertain of–
certain that only in empty caves in other’s heads they reach
you stop the gears in your head,
in a state of false peace
“Ah, finally I can be understood,
this is it!”