Same day [again ]

 Mama looks at me

“Are these your real teeth?”

Though I had smiled before

with all my being,

today everything feels fake.

Banality is profound,

existence rolls through fog.

There are still three floors left until the third floor.

I no longer play chess with myself.

The thought no longer spins around

itself 

The block across the street feels my sadness

in the plaster that’s about to fall on the head

of a dreaming passenger 

It’s Tuesday, but it feels like yesterday 

Life doesn’t scream, it only comments on posts,

behaving like a bottle on the edge of a table.

I calculated the trajectory, and the bottle will fall

in the year 2089, provided

the tram passes three times a day.

Banality is profound,

existence rolls through fog.

I feel fulfilled, 

though I’ve done nothing new—

as if I had climbed K2… 

in flip-flops and a pijamas.