Letter
Letter
kasia, i am speaking to you from inside the picture
and i want to believe that you’ll understand everything
like these people of yours i am also beside
myself and your shadow on the floor
sometimes i feel like a beggar on the street
the rain of your colours falling on me
you know i like to roll around in the moths of sleepy rains
and read the anteworlds from wet clothes
when the whirlwind has stopped and the hand has said
you know because of a certain tendency of late initials
i like to be the rag of coloured sketches
that cleans the line and sharpens the aura
when you don’t see me i’m beyond the field
and thus my boyish loneliness
my contour also loses touch with the fill
that pulls in the boundaries of sad elements
into some strange joy of being beyond the field
and feigns wholeness when you come out of the shadow
as if i were ashamed to take on life
only when you return to a state of focus
thank you kasia for the spanish red
that lets me hear what i would not have heard
thank you for letting in??????
and summon existence through cordial crimsons
cordial crimsons
ah cordial crimsons
c c as if through tears
that condense into tears
it’s as if you caught me in a colour
and without colour i would be a ghost of starch
like a fingerprint you cannot see
before the marker of imagination calls it up
kasia tomorrow i fly to the barcelona rain
to the daughter who loves the world of early autisms
and only now i’m adhering to the picture
and only this time i adhere to the picture
do you know what’s happening in catalonia
when i’m not there because i’m not there yet
and not that i’m not there because i’m never there
January 2024
