Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

Barbara Serdakowski

Senza parole - Without Words

I am not that part of the bridge you cross In the air current of a dug up Vistula I am a shapeless Stain Word without contour I am out of place Were you the one in the shadow behind my shoulders? I still feel on my back traces of a stranger On my hips, thighs, maybe nape Cupping glasses Eddy that drains A perpetual loss of acquired words The bloodletting of the soul of a bird of passage Holes reduced to incidental terms

Words, mots, palabras, słowa

I would like to stop using words of others But which then? If I don’t have my own.

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