Déjà vu

In my sweat, the animals scent
the smell of my acrid disquiet.
In my head they hear the traffic of frenzied questions
running over and maiming all of my good intentions.
They sense the chaos that prevails
in this monstrous and frenetic piazza
that is my soul.

The animals know
when I am on the verge of a new apocalypse.
They know of my tumbling down from one hope to the other
along the precipice that is raised inside of me each day.
They know by heart the miraculous rescue staged
after every daily devastation.
The animals aren’t impressed anymore.