In the face of uncertainty
the loose sanity, hesitant in its clumsiness.
One thing is the imprecise bet
all or nothing;
the virtue of the risk-taker
without regard to consequences,
nor Halley’s most extensive radius.
It’s normal to collapse in the mist,
there is no fear that impotency
hasn’t woken in the past.
The hero falls in misery
when he can’t exceed his expectations.
It is propitious to drown in the melancholic Mediterranean yogurt,
and at the end
finding the pieces to build oneself,
to love oneself.
It’s normal to get used to the downfall,
and pass the very last instant
navigating between possibles.
The truth of our times,
any affirmation is gelatine that melts,
before the evidence
before the weight of history
that constipates when digested.
The truth of our time
the uncertainty of success,
and that tender melancholy
before the ancestral mistake
before the possibility of extermination.
That we are able to accept it
Mammalisms that reptiles refrain from feeling.
In the face of uncertainty,
the hug under the blanket
and the deep breath.