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Vivarium Tunnel


It is like sharing the space of a bathroom
where I am defecating: with someone else...
The smell of rotten feces, can it be shared?
You answer: "How could that be?", and I answer:
"Where do the producers of lesbian porn movies
collect the actors from?".

Many days ago, I had kicked my mother
in her ass. I can not disremember all such small
details of my life.

I am going through a tunnel.
The tunnel has many openings/doors on both left
and right sides of me.
I am hearing the echoes of santoor and sitar below
and above me.
I want to fly away, becoming the bird
of the ads of Microsoft Surface Studio, I want to sense
the flood of sunlight warming my breast: I want
to escape from here.
I want sunlight that would heat up my breast, and melt it.

But with each step that I take, I hear
a voice in my dreams' mirror~dome: you have everything,
where do you want to go? If you go, you will become blind.

I fear blindness. I fear sharing my bathroom with
my parents. I want good eyesight.

Like a poet who has written poetry in the primordial caves
Of the Windows log-on screen: I love my life, I love to
write poetry.
I know I can not compete with Goethe, or with Shakespeare,
or with anyone else like that.
I love to write simple poems, poems
that tell the story of my life.