Paper clip

All week bothering people
with a clip in my hand.
Asking them about its symbolic meaning;
its functionality: safety for papers;
its esthetics.
I used that to talk about
ourselves
that very moment:
“We are a couple of pages
from a badly told story.”
And the blue clip,
infantile,
putting it inside my mouth.
With nothing to say,
metallic silence uniting my lips.
Thinking about the poem I would latter write
And that it
would measure
at least
more
than
one
page
so
I
could
use
the
paper
clip.

Things dont go as they should

You know that
feeling,
when things go wrong,
you have lived it,
you always say:
that’s how life is,
ups and downs, ups and downs