I can never see sunglasses without thinking about
In the mess of a room, of a car,
of a life,
my cheap, black framed—sometimes blue—shades
disappear, and once again the sun blinds me.
I’m unable to see and unable to look for all the things lost
along the way.
I can never see sunglasses without thinking:
well it seems like I was going crazy, sometimes I didn’t know what to do