GRAMMAR
organization, organization, enraged customers yell in the supermarket, baking powder,
the sea in a tetra-pack, half a kilo of cinnamon scent, my eye in a box of matches, I said: cold
silver for the morning bottled so that you see a sugary female demon when you take a peek at it
not even trees are arranged in alphabetical order
(I do not know the land with my eyes) in spite of that hugging look that spills over slowly and
lovingly, god will shoot up, the epicenter is where I stand, but why should sit I on one poem
when I possess another, and so we recognize each other once again: oh god, oh god, why do
you have such a big and one and only eye, as if you are alone in your encyclopedic head
your language editors hang from the low crown of a chandelier as if this world was
broken glass and I myself walk on it barefoot and I know because I was told by a man who
committed suicide
you cannot blame the tree for its silly branches
I see I wanted it I remained alone in my room
as though in a sort of a state-run poem