I warm my hands with a cup of cheap green tea
I look at it as if it was the sea and it was opening
It often transports me from an armchair to Burkina Faso
The curtain moves and the sun shines
And the air makes sound
I notice its weight and thickness
Humidity in the environment like a sprinkler
I let my floor pass in the elevator
Because I'm talking to a dead plant from Asuncion
The air conditioner does not work
And the heat I have merges with the one he does and it moves me
Echoеs and waves
A sphere that hatchеs
Cave walls full of mammoths and shadows
And prints of a hand that is very similar to that of a cousin of ours
I sewed tarpaulins to make sails and escape to remote areas
Against the waves
Against comfort zones and ambushes
I wash the sand from the layers inside the leek
While I feel myself collapsing
I erase my fingerprints
I reduce vitals to a minimum if necessary
Very few signals are reaching my occipital lobe
And I repeat to myself "keep it up"
As I focus on the taste of my tasteless saliva
And the contact of the feet with the vinyl floors
A beautiful memory of the Makishi market
But I have never been there and I have been here
So how is it possible that I don't feel present?
Tens of millions of grains of desert sand
A thousand years ago I put the pen in the slot of a cassette
It seems like it's only been a month
I just cooked and I sit down
The tears have just ruined my thirst