the road is a hound
who toadies under the feet of the one who leaves

it's a snake's tongue when it splits
under the feet of the one who leaves

it's a golden fish
ready to fulfill three wishes
if you free it
under the wheels of a heavy truck

(at least I sleep without dreaming,
at least I sleep with my face towards you,
at least I try to forget you
when forgetness is a translucent person,
you can see its every fear,
how it crouches, how it disfigures)

do not look behind,
no one has told you goodbye,
no one is there to welcome you,
no one to wait for you,
your continuous neurosis feel abandoned
and no one else

this is what happens: you run away from the routine,
from this exact form of exasperation,
from your domestic hell
which spreads from one wall to another,
from one death to another

your wishes are always the same:
to leave, to leave again,
to come, not to come,
to have darkness, always darkness,
so you have nothing to escape to

any road collapses, eventually

any road becomes, no matter how tardy,
a kind of destiny line
which barks at you, while you say goodbye

and it's your absence
that is so present