How will I find the right doorway?
When I was young and innocent
a girlfriend showed me the way in.
Although my groin sometimes growls,
I prefer to lie calm as a tombstone
and listen to the silence I can still hear
between the tick and tock of the clock.
Now, I can’t remember anything—
like the word shadenfreude?
Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ve got it.
I’ve got stubble on my grinning chin
sitting in my Biedermeier rocking chair.
My yellowing eyes don’t recognize
the withered old face in the mirror.
A pink and blue world of pills
dazzles my memories and dreams.
I’m pleased to survive one more day.
My love for you was my breath—
ole, ole, ole, ole—I clap my hands
and practice a Flamenco dance
until I turn to dust.
What’s that stink? Can that be me?