Pinocchio will never be a real boy.
I know that.
He
will never eat real crackers and soup.
But it is better that you
see only this marionette who
brings
to the world the protection of his woodenness.
I cannot put myself
at the mercy of your raised eyebrows.
Do not ask it.
For many
years I believed I was the only one who
sent
whittled wood loosely strung together out
into
the world to live by proxy.
Only little by little did I learn that
nobody is there...
Nobody at all.
We are all elsewhere.