Unlikely Habit

Unlikely Habit

the obsession of getting on a bus without leaving to grab what from the window stares at me while mine don't even settle, fly over displays' landscape, colours' range and shapes about legs and breasts, hanged from naked torsos with hard necks, tanned; the starts and brakes, the acid indifference of the alike; suddenly a startled reflux, or a memory haunting, jumping from stomach to tongue, without more than a hopeless now, when a piece of sky between an alley or a façade turns into some exquisite glory, soiling.
and while inside this distressing trance, repeat the same unfinished lines, sort I think one day I would like to or What do you think you would say if, until reaching the mechanically unlikely habit of not knowing anything nor over nothing, to forget all names, all stories, all dates; to get used to forget everything of myself - routes, journeys, the order of things, the houses, the beds, the houses.

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

The habit of

is an addiction, solely
that I invented as a way to avoid certain

thoughts
I keep repeating short sentences
malnourished
like going to the café
to drink coffee
with no reason, other
than the habit of arriving
and ask for something like
coffee.


The habit of.

© José Coelho, 2015