are free
free like dirty handkerchiefs
to wander in the wind between the sidewalk and the road
are free to twirl
are free to get carried away by outside forces
a pack of cigarettes
the coffee machine
a daily horizon of coins jangling
eyes so low I do not think the sun
- a daily horizon of fictitious victories
small ferment
become then a bottle floating
is a constant coming and going
rhythmic
on the same wave
and without direction
are freedom and his refusal
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