Tony

“As long as a match stays alight. As much as you have time to see in the room that flares and fizzles out. The images holding, briefly, then fall. Some lines you manage, they are gone, another match, again. Pieces missing, empty pages, match, again. Comes across an unknown word and sticks in your mind.

And where are the dwelling places of the wicked.

Ask those who pass by beside you. Match, some smudged parts again like those of the Testament, then some of his pieces, then mine. The light so brief that you don’t have time to write, in the dark you can’t see if the page is blank. You write, a match, words falling on top of each other, another page, write, again a match, page blank, continue, another half-written page, read, the matches almost gone. You turn the pages by feel, finger them. Where you find written patches, you add your own beneath, you write in between. A match, read, your own together with the stranger’s, more again. As if you were speaking with someone. Match, pull on the cigarette try to read under the glow. No. Match, anguish that the objects go away again. As when I went away.

[...]

Last match.
Full Moon”
― Dimitris Lyacos, Z213: EXIT