Day Three: To Sleep

Day 3_03-2

Up & down Manhattan avenue for ten blocks  of silence. 

The ultra red sky on the east breaks up in pieces of truth on the intermittent neon light of a dry cleaning shop, on the Cuban sitting on the window and wearing out the hands where his face sleeps.

It might be that it is still the morning of those that are not yet awake, that it is the night of those that can sleep ,that  I am not able to rest enough because it is not life the one that goes away in the sleep, or for  the polish dwarves, for the chalk ladies , the closed cafés, the empty delis, but everything now seems to live in an involuntary balance. Between the limits of the men and his next becoming. Whatever it is going to be. 

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