made

made

went out while searching in a gallery of disease. fell on top of all there is . . . crawled inside a mattress to save myself. it was a long-shot, but the executioner has a weakness for spectacular efforts. an honest confrontation, crawling into a mattress, the first war and the last freedom. washing machines with loose screws and decomposing turkeys dropped from the scene. even that hole in the wall with my name on it got a fresh coat of paint and plaster. i can see where i was and i’m the only one who knows. three sisters watched over me, red eyes blinking as my beard grew up the walls, fleeing my ideological pollution. cocoon life where only springs are of interest, where it is so dark hostility and fear cannot find me. finally, i belong where i am. still, quiet, untouchable.