Traveling Delusions
I usually sit on the sofa
every morning
But these days
are not
usual
No longer the cafe
no longer the glance in the mirror
when leaving
Books wait for me to read them
If only on occasion
The rocking chair
tells stories outloud
when I’m not there –
tales of a thousand and one nights
And I, of course
no longer change my clothes
each day
That’s it
I’m tired of life
The days pass slowly
Travel to anywhere
is no more
And she is waiting
a beautiful canary
chirping on her shoulder
a turtle walking slowly
nearby
When the phone rings
She is on the line
I miss you friend
Toss the time aside
Come quickly
The sofa is empty
And my body sleeps in bed
alone
The poem waits for a sign
To come
And the white paper
no longer looks at me
I left her a lifetime ago
Words have no meaning
Meaning is cast in the road
Al-Jahiz addresses his companion Borges,
looks at me … and says:
You’re fine
The fever will abate
Then he leaves
Borges
sits down next to me
He opens the book of delusions
Reads some stories
Then disappears
Paul Auster
emerges from the distance
carrying the same book
Again
He approaches the door
When I get out of bed
To talk to him
like I used to
long ago
I don’t find anyone home
Only the rain falling
outside
Only water filling the streets
the cats meowing
looking for food