And they’re returning, it’s already almost quotidian.
There’s no one to stop them.
The messiah won’t come tomorrow or the next day
if he hasn’t come till now.

The picture won’t change
despite the promises.

The old fear approaches slowly, now appears!
stirring with desire to forget,
to try a different hour, in a different place.
To change addresses, like wanted men.

But in dreams that are too slow,
like a labyrinth of black humor,
you remain fixed, nailed.

The rescue passes you by,
into gray distances of exhaustion.

Time passes and gets shorter,
you’re worth less than before.
And there’s no sign from one edge to the other.

More streets and alleys
announce no entrance
joining the dubious neutrality.
You go on as though that’s just how it is, resigned
to meet again the meanness that knows you.