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From the bed to the garden, without glancing at the cheat sheets I carry in my pocket.
Today my trousers are size XXL; I could say I feel like nothing, but I look at the bench where I was sitting a moment ago and it is broken, missing a leg. Even so, it holds up.
There is a new stability growing in me, almost in hiding. I know this because my chest expands when I look at myself.
The bed has gifted me the warmth of the nest and, with it, the strange license to write at forbidden hours.
First inverted flights.
The climate is like this song: elongated, like the shadows that crawl across all the sunsets I think I know by heart—perhaps because, by repeating the cycle, I no longer need to be top of the class, but the one who listens best. There is a calm that says it all without any jams, in a clean way. Newly arrived in my home garden, with this new purpose: to be able to see how the retirees look at the secrets of the foundations.
I have finally reached the moment of rewriting the same phrases, on a rainy day, in the living room of a stranger's house, or in the exact prelude of this song.
Author's Note
About this Fanzine Series
My Journey Through the Word
GLOBAL VISION: THE FIRST TRUTH
Turned into a branch,
the depth of the roots speaks to me,
the leaves massage my forehead.
The second skin sheds,
filtering realities.
The philosophy of perfume:
to expand without touching.
Where the air is thinner,
I measure the weight of
the ghosts yet to come.
Truth is not sought:
it is ivy that climbs,
between the sky and the mud.
It only grows.
To invoke images,
vertebrate spells of words
that cleanse from within.
The mirror,
with an eagle’s gaze.
(Spell I)
Transforming a laboratory data into a symptom of the soul.
Let me read you the future from the grounds of this wate
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