THE INSIDE OF THE CEMENT BAGS
O - letting go
X - holding
O
In another town, in another apartment
I was watering the walls,
to release it from paper,
while writing
about another apartment
in another town.
OX
The wall was liberated
from old layers,
pink and innocent
like infant lungs
they were.
Dry and safe
like mouse nest.
X
Patterns of these wallpapers
do not belong to this world,
like an old fashioned underwear
that triggers shame
when being exposed
(see: shame, defense position)
X
A burrow in the underground,
is the safest place in the world.
Until a dirty muzzle comes.
(see Kafka's "Burrow")
X
The edge of my sharp plaster knife
gives no mercy.
With these instruments
we tend to touch the wall.
O
A pile of wallpaper pieces had gathered on the floor,
when I found THIS under a closet:
O
Some Easter decoration,
long forgotten.
Fake eggs on a fake nest,
along with straws
that you can use
for sniffing the plaster,
the whole apartment
into your lungs.
O
Felt no attachment,
this time
my clinging
didn't run out of my nose,
it didn't stick on my walls.
O
The whole wall got cleaned
and paint covered it.
I realized that my bonds,
the white fragile threads
can hardly be seen.
They are not for my eyes
to be seen,
but rather for my waistline
to be felt.
O
So many of these threads,
the entire netting.
I used to call them
backbones,
scaffolding,
thicket.
I thought it is my jungle,
where I am free
to wander.
And yes,
indeed
it is my jungle,
yes, indeed
it is my forest.
