I make this many mistakes
just to be sure that one morning
I will cross over to the cafe
without them being counted.
“I wish you were here”
is not such a cliche
considering it is the point of my life.
I hate Freud for practical reasons,
Marx for aesthetic ones.
But Hegel – he sneaks me the kind of theology
that keeps you going behind your mother’s back.
Kafka laughs his bitter Jew’s laugh
every time I complain to him about you.
In the morning I cross over to the cafe
carrying a bag with a laptop inside it,
my mistakes’ register.