And here I find myself then
in a town located in the middle of an ocean of ground
Half the days I spend the time kicking
I always awake with a dry mouth
The world divided in peep or cool
Long ago I was told that
There might be in the world
Places with no wine, topographies with no sea.
You said it to me many times without opening your mouth
The wisdom extracted from a little book
which characterized people’s habits.
Half the days I spend the time, as you know
speaking in tongues, dreaming
Half in Spanish, a third in English
The rest in German,
Performing when I get irritated
A mysterious ritual
Scraping my head against the walls
(the boxer’s nightmare).
My heart of Tiki-Man (he doesn’t speak)
Has gotten me worshiping the planes
Blowing kisses to the white trails
furrowing the Ohio’s skies.
You ask me if I would want to approach
One oh them
Running opened arms back to the bullets
To the burned ones?
And what do you want me to say
That I do prefer this dance on firm ground
The excessive food
The red faces of the americans?