II

There is a red tone of feathers in this words. I dare go to bed picturing myself as poet. I embrace this fear which uprises from that passion that hardly could anyone uptake since dark is the moment at which those who ignore the beat of their heart follow conventions of sugar or salt. Red is now the horizon and dark the stubbornness shouting there is no thing to do but settling down on this world of grey stone. "Defy no one and ignore that thing so called soul!" Laughter in the skyes, salt water bathing my hands. I go onto drowning myself in images, notes, propositions and matter. Never mind the awkward song and the screams from the shore. It is I, only I...