"I possess nothing but my body; a man on his own, with nothing but his body, can't stop memories; they pass through him. I shouldn't complain: all I have ever wanted was to be free" -Antoine Roquentin, in Sartre's Nausea.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Tongue twister.

Like a child, yet always me, I´m trapped. My words twist, tumble in my mind, they choke. About to leave the fortress hidden behind towers white, kept in by defences-against what?

Like a tongue twister:
"Where she sits she shines, and where she shines she sits".
Through the smell of coffee that fills the air, the glimmer of the sun is a background, touching her hair. The glitter in her eyes a sign? A reflection of what I want to see? Eyes the lake in winter´s wake, And I?, I wait... I wait for wake and flee.

Impossible to know how to talk, though talk I do each day.
Why when I see you, can I not free you from our chats in this small cafe.
Again always afraid, in my head my words are made,
as I look up, your eyes and nose and lips I smile, to yours,
the rumble and buzz, the words they bubble
- I hiccup-
they fade.
And when they return its late.

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