quarta-feira, 25 de janeiro de 2017


I have no joys to remember,
to write down
or, for what is worth, in living.
I am not welcome anywhere I go.
My face does not resemble any country
or any person you might know,
and anyone who tells otherwise is probably lying.
No one knows I'm gone or present
My dog forgot my smell.
I may be standing alone
In a balcony at a cafe
and every atom in the universe pass through my body.

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