I was looking absent-mindedly at the man
behind the mirror. he’s bored too and lights up
an imaginary cigarette, opens his nostrils wide
and sighs as if the entire universe is dripping
from his eyes to the boots via an useless route
with no clue for others. since two mornings past
he’s no longer surprised to see faces in clouds
or even waxy ones hanging to be smoked
in squalid bars where everybody is a genius
above all the whores wearing pink mini skirts
lusting next to the pint of beer or the kids
who scratch the walls of the block’s staircase
with distorted pentagrams not having
the slightest idea about the five petals rose
he draws one last smoke from his imaginary
cigarette then he gets rid of me going away
from the mirror and all that’s left is a useless mask