Froth

Froth
I have heard stories of resilience, of throat singers
And man-made fossils carved on alabaster screams.
I dream of cosmopolitania as the froth of the sea
Touches my feet, with pieces of geologic regret.

Bamboo, decayed spaces, permanent shadows,
Floating without resistance, scratching torches.
Draperies beg for mercy, for absolute cold, against
The exit performance, the sporadic fastidiousness.

I am curious about the urge for grotesque poses,
Whether to simulate, or forget the skipped meals.
I am too complex to live a single life, or to make
Copies of my revenge, ubiquitous like an ancient god.

I have heard stories of tragedy, cycles of intrusions
And departures, same banal caresses, dry wind.
I dream of froth in all its shapes, as the partitions
Ricochet in this revelation, before it disintegrates.

  

Don't spend time beating on a wall, hoping to transform it into a door. - Coco Chanel