do you wanna know why I never run? I simply

don’t feel like it. It’s not that I hate it, the way I

hate calling a woman „a lady“ – like the person

who lives next door, who talks to her cat at 5

in the morning; by her voice I imagined her

having a full head of wiry hair, broad

and scratchy like her questions, annoyed,

like I’ve been annoyed with her; I acknowledge her

through the walls and am, just tonight, grateful for

her presence, while cursing her on other

days. that’s life, that’s me – you should count

on my insults, they will surely come. For now

I am content to put ribbons on entrances

where people don’t expect them: public

toilets, cemetaries, the broken

neck of a pidgeon run over by a bus. Heal

the spine. I practised that many times and

am now an expert. My head wants to kneel

though, or snap at the sight of simple houses

that I declared monuments. Loosely, the keys

confide in each other, rustling, in the pocket

of my coat. They think I’m dangerous but luckily

not for them. I cherish the chill of their obedient

metal and feel my heartbeak

parroting inside my chest. Do you want a

cracker? Remember the word, remember the

feeling. I want that same feeling, again. I want

to practise, practise on a spine. Delicate blood

that I will curl the ribbon around so gently, chalky

vertebrae, gory keyhole, expert opening.