KONZUKO

Air glides regularly through a coloured souvenir jacket; its fit too big and its drape like a sack.

Physically, the man is in good shape.

Fat? low. Muscle? In moderation.

a beard, Grown.

People are gathered in a garden, a celebration.

Faces from 10 years ago, ones that seemed bright and hopeful, can’t help but show pain, a yearning, a tiredness.

Some faces say they can’t find love, an unfairness in biology separating them from their lover.  They envy the feeling of companionship.

Some faces have found love, and it’s nice, but the produce of love, its offspring, is too much to bear. They are tired. They hope for the later chapters.

Some faces are restless. The world is not enough. Their cards are good but they’ve worked too hard. If only just for some more luck, some more tries.

Some faces have pride. They own material goods. They lie and they cheat. They give advices unwarranted and unuseful. They can only know what they know.

Some faces are old. They long for the past. They accept the future.

In this space of faces

there are flowers and angels and rainbows and lillies

and fucking nice things.

these days, all the people I see, in their faces, a mind robbed by life

we are together, and we are speaking, but we’re not