And Through It All

Vasques—the boss.

And through it all,
behind my daydream,
I’ll feel my soul like a whistle of stark anxiety,
a pure and shrill howl,
useless in the world’s darkness.

Fall gently,
invisible grey,
embittered monotony,
sleepless tedium.

the one that’s here or that’s yet to come,
and the foretasted weariness of all acts,
the foretasted disillusion of all dreams.

No one,
I suppose,
genuinely admits the real existence of another person.

Now it’s my turn to ask forgiveness.

Even to stop seeing hurts the eyes.

Recover the grief with which I dreamed you.

—Uncle Pork, Ensaio sobre a Intuição

via tw