Your neighbors laugh softly.
your cats are not surprised.
that girlfriend you had in your twenties and who
In a fit of anger she predicted madness for you
and loneliness,
She was wrong: it seems like you are talking to yourself.
when in reality you argue passionately with
the human choirs of total History.
Something in the dialogue does not close and you continue talking.
your mother in your early childhood
She scolded, didn't she? Believing that you were cursing her for
I lowered it and she told you that it is rude to walk the
world murmuring what.
and sometimes at work they look at you as if forgiving something,
some unknown fault, the bitter coffee, the wrinkled suit,
the early melancholy; poor everyone, hey, except
your cats. It will be possible that only your kitties
understand? So many voices populate you and there are so many of you
that an abacus is not enough to list your mouths.
Your neighbors look out the peephole and smile,
There goes the crazy one, they say.
and you ride in the air and on that wind pedal
you fly away so far with your invisible doves,
laughing whispering saying reputating nodding
and slapping the forehead
to the normals of the world.