The House That Does Not Speak About Anything... Poem by RIC BASTASA

how time swiftly flies without wings of birds
i wake up at dawn lacking sleep

into writing, into deeper thoughts on soundless hours
and how fast, how fast has morning arrived
i am innocent
how stupid can i be
inventing hope and trying to modify the shape of my days

the lights of the door and the kitchen are not turned off
the neighbors are worried

i am home but i am not opening the windows and the door
i am into writing, into the deeper thoughts of my soundless hours

let the neighbors think that i am on vacation again
for weeks

i am into a waking slumber gathering dreams, ripe fruits of sleep
of the waking and sleeping again and again

i love a house that doesn't speak about anything that cannot
remember anybody

the dark loves me.