Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

The Plant of Dreaming

I swallow, glass and all. (A train from the dark,

a foot on each track, an eye, blinded, that looks for you, a train in the dark, that waits for you.) … then … It is the crackle of breath that announces you, all the dust got into the alveoli, now sandpaper. It is the glow of a match within the eye. (dust comes down from the mines, interlaces with lung, at each floor the sack sags, gets more threadbare.)

→

41