everyday boredom
and the sour taste of resignation
make you strongly squeeze your fists
into a blind revolt gesture
but as useless as an attempt
to escape of yourself
when all you have is this only

a soul carved in illusions
and the poetry always sharp
cutting deep to the backbone
never enough to finish
dreams chewed along the night

the soul tamer has failed
under the sole used to the fire
coals have burnt out for long
only a sound, a long sizzling
still persists in the eardrums

I turn my back to the window
my shadow shoves silently
but firmly off my body
slithering like
snakes