Her skin was becoming roses
and her breasts jumped when I moved into her soul
and at night on the bed, she would tell me in the dark
her horror stories as a medical doctor.
I would have liked to take her as a wife
and to see her whole breasts breathe
and the skin flush beneath me
but I could not.


Before I close my tent,
she told me something very beautiful from memory,
that in asthma the breath of the lungs is like the wind whistling under the doors,
to pneumonia-like the crackling of the aerated snow under the soles
and that the sick lungs of bronchitis are fluttering.


All these stir like pigeons trapped in winter in the poultry house.
I was once in a hospital with pancreatic drama
and in my living-room, there was an old driver,
with the missing lungs under a bus,
when trying to repair his engine.
A little old lady was waiting all night
on a chair by his bed. He slept a little,
his breath was burning
like a weather machine forgotten in the mountains
which analyzes the avalanche signals.


The old man was finished but the old woman was a
inspiration for our women
and they really needed something like this:
20 impotent men and a girl with extra-uterine pregnancy,
with tubes in the urethra, exploded intestines, broken bones,
minds eternally marked with horror
and around young and tender surgeons and out
the sun on the streets, life...


This is always the case with dramas!
Of course, an inspiring angel appears,
but otherwise, we are alone and lost
in the ordinary days, not even as patients, as the pigeons
listening to how the thin walls of the valley shake in the wind
because you don't know how to compare anything with anything,
because you're the first man in the world,
the first to live, the first to make mistakes.


If I were to choose an inspirational model,
it would be the dwarf in the comedy passage!
Last night, someone asked him one evening
why didn't he go to the circus...he would have lived differently,
he would have had a place of his own and an interesting life.


The dwarf scratched at his skin
and refused to answer. I liked
that he stays strong, even if he sleeps sometimes
on the stairs at the control club and the girls in training
colorfully step on it. In that sense,
I said as a model of life--as I would have liked
to be like him if I hadn't left the circle.