Ana Chagas

Pieces trickle down my arms

And little by little I shed myself,

what I thought I was

What gives, fate?

At times,

Always, never, nothing

Makes sense

The delicacy of lace on a lamppost,

The blue sun or

The empty sky.

In the Formula 1 car, at limitless speed. He won't even let me breathe.

Perhaps this is the day of death.

Scaffolding rises to the sky.

On just two wheels around the bends.

And, jolting and lurching,

Amid the bumps,

The killer driver goes on his way.

Run, run, little horse.

All I can think is: what if one day?

Up goes the hose, blood spurts, a baby cries.

Panic takes over my nerves, steel and skin.

I simply arrive alive,

living here is an adventure.

As everyone knows, the world is ending.

I crossed paths with Paula K riding a bicycle, or was it her double? At Bartman I saw armadillo-men talking.

On the way back, I clocked an older woman, more than fit for her age.

Warrior.

Soon her companion came in.

The lady of the three legs, of the sphinx.

Of an elegance outside time, said her smudged lipstick.

On the way there, I came face to face with the beggar's hand.

I walked.

At the top of a tower a tree was born

and to keep from going mad

I smile sunflowers.