One Who Can Never Correspond

Lying across the polyester carpet in my

disassembled dormitory, worlds apart from fictions

best conditioned for magical realism as well as

all other strange subgenres proliferating out there,

all of us pondering the happenstance of sudden death.


Sipping €2,00 wine in my own sort of exile

generated due to cultural mishap, guilelessly believing

through pathetic visions of supreme skill

that I too have done honour to humankind in ink in the name

of fuckbuddies, uncles, acquaintances, enemies and surmised others.


I wander through an empty courtyard in circles,

dizzily entering my stale coloured room to find

my cheap paperback of what I often tend to hear

is an unquestionably timeless piece of writing;

but I am limited with the hesitancy of concern.


I cannot say if my senses are straight.

if three romantic partners divorce me

in life, will they be as befuddled by

my eventual death as the literary zealots

I count myself with are by yours?


I gaze across the pimply face of the stratosphere,

cumulus clouds of tropicalia music hovering above the

coast of Colombia, estranged from the knowledge of

how much facial cream can cure the hiccups of hormonal skin,

representing the forecast of the forlorn.


Great masters perish all around me,

the daggers of mediocrity piercing their breasts;

content in their wisdom though dismayed by our unoptimistic future,

our wizards eradicated without single backward glances

before pieces of the populace board AA Flight 11.


I peer over pieces of scribbled paper,

an imitating ape believing somehow in ability

to control the neural chaos that envelops us all,

only lacking the gall to bring forth

such letters into the public world.


– For the late Gabriel García Márquez, 1927-2014


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