The outside
Berserk
bashes us in
(An all-out attack)
Now wreck it.
Don’t let it plough you flat
Hoist that bucket up
Wash out all your mud marks
You’re tomorrow, not that day
Not even a past
And breathe
As you always did.
At last.

In many walks of life, a conscience is more of a burden than remorses are. Necessarily.

Cringe-making on one last exit morning
with this humming, like a filthy moaning

Ingress, egress

Discordant violin, the chords haughtily pecking
as an angry outburst, spinning around, a jarring

abscess, slyness,

Get dressed, rapturous, howling 'what the heck'
And just sit by and listen, dire straight, berserk

Cringe-making on one last exit morning
with this humming, like a filthy moaning

Obsess, recess

We pride ourselves on this: we took out the trash
Evenly rotting the soil and the root at day, at night

Too envious to cease, ruining it in a mere fortnight
On a fishy sensuality, blinded, we turned it all to ash
Rehearsing, we so often did, hounded as we only were 
No safe exit upon a bargain: we gave a purse for a curse  

You mourn it now you fool, why it was all but farfetched?
On a planet off, we eagerly dug our grave and we retched 
'Unless', like a utopia, is no longer inside our own purse

Do you remember these throbbing days, as we drunk cider
On a planet on, a reckless burning, oblivious not to decipher
We pride ourselves on this? Halfwit, we took out our own lash
No one will ever, ever understand why our love was but a dash.

Trust, dope
Must, hope
Rust, *****
Lust, lope


you trust and hope that I must leave the dope but I rust on this ***** and for lust, I lope.

So was the blow...

There was a 'like' or two, passing by
over a ****, a whisper, having a shy
at them, retreated with haste, why?
At first,

There were some words which, as a subtle ardor
set free from their harness, seemed eerie, flew
As it comes here, without a scant of a tremor,
all jotted down, no longer bound by a curfew.
Before,

And then?

A Cello
C sharp
minor
calando

Rewind

Manu Chao
Scarp
color
giusto

…. is what I saw  in this pixelled-you.

(and so?)

My little world is teeming: anything can happen
As I see you beaming: a dashing spell unforgotten
In a starlit night, to my eyes you shown
How could I decently remain atone?
And through the thick and thin
there is no room for spleen...
...in a blossoming garden

I was very weighed down, lately,
by a sensation of delicacy.
This subtle blend of refinement
and grace of all instant.

A bewitchment?
An enchantment?

What oh: a wizardry?
(Some call it ‘alchemy’)

Oh welll

A pure finesse
As you defy
The lightness
And consume
All sense (with)
A perfume (and)
Your vividness

Comes now,
the magic palette.