holiday

I took one beer from fridge

and while I’m drinking, layed down

on wide opened balcony, night

is still so hot and darker than

yesterday.

too laisy to get rid of my jeans,

I’m waiting the rain.

I heard them talked about

will come after 6 p.m.

already 4 hours delay.

once again,

I can’t trust breaking news.

listen this Congo to Cuba playlist…

I’m doubting I even exist, in my own life,

in this present.

I tend to think I made a deal with

some woman’s body,

to act being me.

so, while I’m dancing samba,

at the beach, with feet melted in sand,

this woman, this stranger

meets my friends,

drives car on crowdy city’s streets,

pays my bills, answers my phone,

cooks bad food in my kitchen,

takes care of my trash.

in Cuba, with eyes closed,

I’m smoking good cigares,

embracing my dreams.

no jeans.