I don’t exaggerate nor do I get
surprised by the chancy. Even
when it happens sixteen, or seventeen
times over, what’s the problem?
The organization is what bothers me.
The impeccable steps in synchronized
time, the clock whirling in an invisible thread
around the axis of an unfamiliar center.
Invisible mechanisms, conspiracies, gears,
words that give birth to automatic worries
that don’t inspire true concerns in one.
Yet, which center is this?
Which axis?
And how many meters of a thread is still left?
Manolis Aligizakis 