THE EXILE DIARIES
27th of November
A new order on the wooden door of the cookhouse.
We had agreed on frugality.
Saturday passed
with a tin rusted moon.
A dog-cloud chews on our sleep.
We always have a headache on Sunday.
Smoke rises from within.
Smoking is a pretention.
We eat, sweep, sleep.
The blind man keeps vigil
gropes the air with his hands.
28th of November
Deck of cards with no numbers
the unarmed Jack
the Queens chew naphtha
we left a word behind
the inversion
nothing but
an overcoat buttoned to the neck.
Manolis Aligizakis 