Only the Matter
I take something and place it somewhere else.
I don’t know why perhaps I don’t like something;
seconds later the cloth; then the paper
which screams a whisper
when its position is changed.
Does this imperceptible sound
perhaps expresses discomfort
or relief for this new relation
of the soulless to infinity?
or perhaps the subject longs
for its old place?
A small imperceptible movement
a glance, a spark of light
and look, the internal-self springs out
and moves freely
in the abstract now.
Then something as an erotic murmur is heard
or a little whining of an unfed dog.
matter will act as such, I say
before my own silence
takes control of me.
Manolis Aligizakis 