Bubbles of Voice

I’m getting drawn in my own thoughts

a thick mass made of mud
far from being fluid,
clear as crude oil.
There’s no air,
there’s no way out
the light is turned off
somebody stole the shores.
But time after time
I hear a voice
it becomes a bubble
it gets to my nose
sometimes I chase it,

I follow the noise.

The oxygen of its sound
makes me breath like a ghost,
could be a second
could be an hour
perhaps even more.

Like a syringe absorbing water

I enter the bubble

and start to breath,

a handful of voices

are calling me.

Sometimes it’s music

sometimes it’s wind

could be a hand

holding some lips.

I seize to the air

but it starts to leave

all of a sudden

or in a sweet pace,
the bubble explodes
the sound disappears
I enter the whirlpool
of my thoughts and my dreams
and I try to swim
in this oily sea
waiting for bubbles
that help me to breath.

Belén Plascencia
Dec 28th, 2010