Apostolis IliopouloGod gave me a bunch of talents.
He took his basket and threw them at me like he was throwing potatoes.
And I took and grew like a straw scarecrow,
with a heart full of guilt and thorns for them
that were happening, until I straightened up,
blue jacket, without the slightest beauty
and I stood in my place.
There were no mirrors or anything else,
I lay down and wondered about life and yet,
I got drunk with the squall, the buds in the trunks
and I danced losing my drops of sweat,
crying in shame. And my writer friends and I
came persuaded me to tear up all my volumes,
to shake off my drool and better wipe at
moths of inactivity and me
I huffed, yes, that’s what I wanted to say, and stopped.
I played and played the grand piano, I tapped and rattled like it was music,
I went out like a dog in the streets and didn’t even recognize them,
words struck on the tile,
where are my friends
No one there to listen to me. Shut up, everyone
actors, bro operas, pussies, yes pussies curled up,
umbrellas, idiots, you won’t tell me again that I don’t play,
I won’t play again,
accented, like an aristocrat,
read what it sounds like, it’s for reading
blue. Ah, and the time has come,
my time when I couldn’t anymore, yes anymore,
all about the recitation, and I understood, I meant it,
that’s enough, I won’t continue.
Neither one nor the other
since beauty, youth, gaia have forsaken me.
I am not a poet, nor an actor, nor a talented baboon.
I was convinced. I compared myself to the greats and
they didn’t make sense to me, pointless, pussy, shit.
Where is the magic of the little creation, of the friend
that cries, the simple child’s joy,
the exaltation of the great in the non-
his greatness never in,