Translated by: Zoran Ančevski
You do not wake in the same room any more.
And what used to be invisible is not the same.
There are changes even in our habit of awakening.
The objects you identify with
are not equally strange to you.
Each shape seeks a special mould
The hunger for recognition is an open process:
The fruit on a cheap poster
unsettles the sediments below the larynx
makes them slippery and unstoppable
and transports you to the childhood
– as if it were on the side
and you on the other
as if you were without the order
you who shouldn’t have –
you re-experience the excitement
of the eye and the pencil
when drawing grapes, pears, apples
overhearing the conversation
between the desire and the hand where
all future eroticism is gathered.
Childhood returns through a secret door
and reveals excess of life, excess of past:
Something you cannot give up.
And you stop wondering why reality
is not enough for dreaming
and what is it witch is not wakefulness