Desire's peep-holes are closing already
they have been sealed
out of fear that they'll steal our footprints.
A thousand thieves for not making axises of evil
calm-sellers
keeping watch like vultures from their vantage point.
Like an unbeatable tightrope walker
I paint in braille the next mortal's steps.
You took your time in looking at the moon
without anxiety frozen to your back,
because you can't play with it's other face
which surely is the better one Buñuel hated
he cut it to slices
leaving only the cover on the curtain.
Like an unbeatable tightrope walker
reading in braille the next mortal's steps.
If I go over the script in my memory
you go from door to door to look for yellow tiles
for an impossible tightrope walker
reading in braille the next mortal's steps.
His realism, to dominate without revealing
it's my dreamed land
if they close the peep-hole
I'll break the window.
If I go over the script in my memory
you go from door to door to look for yellow tiles
for an impossible tightrope walker
reading in braille the next mortal's steps.
Like a cinema projector
throwing into the air the light that deceives us passing by...