now that

Now that we don’t have a place to return
We can finally stop and smell whatever
We can barely smell. Spoilt chairs
Ride nanny-goats high above over the windows,
Empty bottles crammed on the windowsills,
The taste forgotten, and the sound they make
We can barely hear. The books on the shelves
Don’t have to be translated, don’t have to
Be even understood. Sunflowers laugh
Under the cracked soles, and the mute brains
Of barking dogs can’t help enjoying
Leaves fallen centuries ago. And little rodents,
They make the skies happy
Hiding in the unfeasible holes of oblivion.
Long live archaic theaters, one inside another.
No blood, no sweat, no word, no ending.


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