The Hundred of Dogville

I’m afraid you’ve already learned too much That’s what you say.

You choose your words randomly (you don’t know me).

You are limited to the words “big” and

“small”.

Remember how happy you were.

He, your friend, reminds you

with photographs.

I have no choice, I fell off the train

and landed in front of you.

Do you want to give a sanctuary to the refugee?

You have no time, visiting bordels

once a month, offering yourself.

What do you think you are, some philosopher? A murder after a denied

childhood is not really a murder,

right?

You left home when you were fifteen

years old

And the snow came early, maybe even

too early.

And you don’t differ a bush from the grape. The first snow is falling, and you’re appealing on conscience.

You restrain your emotions aloof and primitively.

Let’s go to bed.

The sheets need to be changed.

I have no choice.

I walk on the street with an exotic name.

Blind alley.

I haven’t always lived here.

I see, they are making a new prison.

In this town the future is a pie with

cinnamon and grapes.

You have so white and limited

hands and you look pleased.

You masturbated last night and fell asleep. And you closed that metal view

of yours.

I am in some state of a trance

typical for animals,

I told myself I must not

open myself too much.

And the State of things is betraying my favorite songs, the ones with values

of uterus.

I know.

I know.

The words must be separated differently, pull the curtain with your limited hand and put a period

WORTHY OF ADMIRATION.

A cup of coffee?