I can’t remember the meaning
of being alive
so deep in this game
called light
so in this middle age
of being innerly shaped
by shamed noisy language
I can recall my self to avoid
to sing unmeaning times
and selfishness.
This game can be false as well
my tongue and verse
in this monologue
spoke as the single
voice that could be reaching
the peek of trombone
man action solo.
Instead of that my title
of low man conquering
the entirety of desert
can remember me
then what is the attempt
to fulfill a kindly firm
of what is truly felt
in my meaning true:
one making sorrow
made of instant reaction
borrowed by memories and pieces
of this puzzles called light.