Most of me is rushing for life, dancing with myself,
inner existence real to me, struggling to shine, the best to be,
a light in the big ballroom,
in a rainning October afternoon,
delighting the weakness of a drawn body,
less blood in my veins, and something else runs and makes me float,
yes I am able to dream, though I like my feet,
holding the center of this crazy spiral countdown that sometimes makes me dizzy,
wanting all books, all movies, all clubs, all parties, all bodies,
trembling chaos,
anxious to sense it,
trying not to explode.