Never talk to strangers
and for heaven’s sake don’t open your mouth
under the poisonous August light.
you had one able eye
but still you weren’t the king amongst the blind.
You had one good ear
while a bat hid in the other one
from people and cold
nestling itself into warm silence, rotten leaves and musty smell.
You had one arm
the other stayed forever tearing umbilical cord
at the bottom of dry ink in the scriptorium
below the strangers’ feet.
So what are you going to tell him
when he asks you if you know
of any shorter path?
Should you tell him to roll the dice
from which time has wiped off the white dots
for one, two, three,
four, five and six?
And that both the judges and the loafers
couldn’t care less if you pronounce
your name a little bit differently
Or that you once had a heart
unable to rot
like a mushroom upon hearing
that they had let pigs and dogs out
to smell the fields I wanted to show you
when they asked me why
I told you so many lies?