duel (#1)

We are looking at the same thing, I guess. At least this is how it should be (almost for sure; maybe not; definitely yes). In the attempt to change my own perspective I move my head to the left, back to the centre and then to the right. I squint and bite my lip and most of all - I try not to look you in the eye. Space and time suddenly fall apart and I know it's exactly 12 PM, noon, and that spurs at our boots are the ones that are making this very faint clang. The hat, that you haven't had on your head just a moment ago, casts shadow on your face and the saliva in my mouth becomes bitter as if I had just bit a blade of grass. We stand opposite to each other but I don't think we can see one another. Everything that there is to it is just a dust on our faces and the Sun that burns our necks and shoulders; there is a yellow sky above and a very distant rumble of the storm that is approaching. (Obviously there is also all of that what is hiding in our fingerprints and shadows under our eyes.) Arms of the tower clock haven't moved for at least ten minutes now. Without thinking much about it I straighten up and tuck my hair to the back so I can look straight at you. I can't explain why I am so surprised that you are still here and that you are looking at me (into me, through me, to me). You are smiling. It starts to rain.

super glue

I've put glue

on my fingertips

so they stop bleeding

now -

- every time I touch

my face

I leave scratches

and faint red lines

on my cheeks

as if
I'd been
using sand paper

the futile attempt
to polish
my thoughts

yoko meshi

yoko meshi (df): the peculiar stress of speaking a foreign language

I speak silent fluently

always have been

I can perfectly time

intervals between

blinking

looking down

walking away

and then

- being silent again

I have experience

in not saying

certain words

out loud

and not answering

questions

you stare at me

and don't want to

give up

I roll my eyes

I open my mouth

but all that

comes out

is just

a very distant

and weak

white noise

...

hand-made

I am unfinished

with only

one coat of paint

I always look

pale and unhealthy

I imagine

that hands that made me

must have been

scratched

with skin like

a sand paper

you have

a soft gaze

that I will

never have

and a clear voice
so different
from the noise
I make

when we lay
in the dark
I can only hope
you can't read
with your fingers
'made in...' label