CONDITION
The room begins to grow like despair,
the air expands in my dream
the gray angels flee.
I’m alone.
Space can hardly breathe,
the crater of the moon rolls towards me,
the hairy paw of the earth holds me, –
forgive me, mother
forgive me, sweetie
the terrified hair screams
the mouth groans crushed with fear,
the carious space is forced to laugh.
It’s a nightmare, I say
the whim of the night in mourning and weeping,
the grimace of the weather frowning
in children with asthenia –
the air is whimsical, it’s late
the dream tormented by fatigue
jumps to his lame feet.
I can hear my breath,
I hear spitting glances everywhere
and here is the leap
and the fall,
and the noise,
everything crashes
into the gap between me and something else.
And there is no sleep
and there is no flesh,
I’m just air
and I’m still a nightmare
which is not over yet.
Manolis Aligizakis 