I travel on portal dates
diving through living memories.
I walk and walk alone,
I turn onto the avenue,
and I avoid my future.
I keep kicking
a little red cap.
I flee slowly, cold,
headwind of fear.
I drag in a backpack
my scraped and dirty love,
a zombie of its dreams
amid the swaying
of hurried faces.
I move invisibly,
a quartz hood
saves me from the world,
grimaces of my nerves vomit
no one sees the lightning
memory of mortal poison
the flash of a finite psyche.
I only stammer, innocently,
the truth, to whoever asks:
—Where does it come from?
—From over there, behind.
—Where is it going?
—Over there, ahead!