....fifteen....and a half....and there is half past five....and a half....and there is twenty four more....seven....sixteen fingers and four thumbs two tongues....and since she was twelve I have often wondered if another part of her body was as beautiful as her.... sleeping....moist....silent....lips....eyelids almost imperceptibly quivering....eyelashes....
....at fifteen....I demand the numbers....and a half....strangle out....suffocate the image of her....in the half light....behind the door left ajar....but the numbers....the words for the numbers....the letters for the words....they do not obey....do not drown out a poetry of leaden emptiness....fifteen....and a half....sixteen fingers four thumbs....two tongues recite me a silent poem of emptiness for a lost daughter....
No comments:
Post a Comment