South Berlin – The glasses people

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The smoke is gradually swamping the bar, where comes and goes an ever-the-same individual

. . . . . . . . . . brown hair short cut

. . . . . . . . . . black clothes

. . . . . . . . . . thick dark frame glasses.

Like a complex tapestry of mirrors, the room multiplies the same

face facing the same face

staring at the same

mouth pressed against the mouth

sucking the Self.

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How far ? Thought I, my heart filling with sincere nausea,

How much of the reflection can be drunk,

what is that thirst ?

Where goes the meaning of desire if it is not of the other ?

And why is that frightening me so ?

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