Over barren ground I stand, my brain cells refusing further noise abuse.

I dream of a new device that can mute the whole world and the reinvention of the country (as opposed to rural).

As I walked out of the metro station, going to meet my ex-landlord in an attempt to reach a deal whith her, which basically consisted in me paying some money that I did not myself owe to her, the view opened symmetrically cut in two sides.

I pushed the stroller on the sidewalk.

On my left was the road separated in four lines, flooded with cars, noisy, full of car waste mixed in the terribly humid, sticky air; on my right laid an immense park so perfectly green, and calm in its lack of people that I was just expecting to hear its pulse and heartbeat.

And it occured to me how lately everything presented itself to me in this format of contrasts as if to show simpathy for my own unrest.

I had promised something to my husband that morning and as I walked remembering the words I had said to him I started to panick. “No I can not do that, I won`t be able to, I just can`t, I can`t!” I said to myself and my heart just went crazy, beating violently. But after two minutes I calmed down and said the opposite: “Of course I can, I just have to focus on what is really important.Besides it might work really well, who knows, right?”.

It is not hard for one to know what is important, but to accept that deep inexpungible knowledge and follow it.

And lately it had become important to me to be on my own. The thought of having a place, alone with my kids and arrange my life as simply as possible was becoming dear to me and I could wholly grasp freedom in those shots of self confidence and that sane lack of desire for anything wordly.

But my calm wasn`t meant to be and I know, I know that the only thing that kept me safe was the trust that there surely is a situation, the perfectly opposite to this one and that I would reach there.

And that blissful thought of God.

Upon entering the office where I had my appointment, I found a bench and sat down.

My book
this book,
the earring in my lung,
the cherries
the cherries
and the blood spot.
My God
my God
forget me not!
the flower
the flower?
or the blood spot.
The lighthouse
that floats
on the iris of my eye
this stem that strangles me
is that I
The pool
the river
this sanitary thought
hanging
hanging
at the back of my throat
Mother
my mother
did you see?!
this beating
this beating
within and against me!
Your face,
that smile
a pin in my brain
Mother
my mother
take me home sane!
The chair of your voice
I drink from my mug
Billy!
Billy!
My hands are are cut!