Poetic memory of a man who was a man.

Break into pieces, arm yourself again. Without memory. No nights of confinement, without the dead mother nor the father you desperately seek to kill to start seeing yourself in the reflections and tell you That's me that was Because right now at this time you are dying to be reborn with clean feathers Without words that bind you to the call of the voices, strangers. Looking for the unnoticed emptiness that allows you simply To be part Of something much larger of what has been what it is your existence.