Passengers of scarcity.

Hi through dark and space to you my friend
Cause yes I know you
As you know me;
We’re both passengers of scarcity, guessed it huh?

I’ll begin like it started for me. I want it to be honest this time
-As if poets could be honest-
But let’s try my friend.

My evening sky doesn’t talk to me like it used to.
It talked louder then.
Before, I remember the before when my legs were fast, my heart full of hopes
And when we –you know- looked at reality only and only within the lenses of dreams.
Distrustful of truth, world-paintor inside the cupboard of our mind, schemer of realms of now and there...
Time has flown
Remember
Time has flown
And now my evening sky grew rarer.

But today it came to me
Almost as loud as before
And I could see once again
In crimson and purple.

“Soon I’ll come back, ma!”
The children play! Madman you hear

Don’t you look back in wonder sometimes?
Don’t you look back at you like at a stranger
Passing by. Walking on the sidewalk of your notice
And you turn and you look at his back
As he steps away, eaten by the crowd
And you wonder ‘This man...’
Whose face you’re not really sure
Whose air, maybe... in a foreign country...
But through your voluntary mist something knows
It was you.
Little shame, little laugh.
Little forget, little lie
Let’s add another mindless night
To twenty thousand others.

“Oh man! Such a spastic.
Crippled.
How can he walk along with that big
Too big!
Can’t he see it is showing
runny, weeping,  noisy, babbling
Heart.
Man, it’s showing!
Hide it;

Hide it.

Hide it!”

It was you;

Now I’m hungry for your light
-Jealousy gnaws at the sheets of my memory –
My belly roars at the table. The neighbour she told me. She heard it from her bathtub.

The hairdryer is still hot.
"Sombebody was killed here man!"
Can’t see the body... But, I can smell it.
The hairdryer is still hot
"Why do you smile girl"
There was a ****** here.
See the hairdryer.
Don’t you... Why keep you smiling?
We really need to leave before...
The hairdryer you know
I wish you’d stop smiling girl!
See!
See!"
A hand
-I can’t move-
Creeps on
-I can’t move!-
The Hairdryer
-Please, please, stop laughing heart!-
It’s my fingers.

The mirror got broken.



Now you’re with me, I dropped a few lines between you and this
Like antipasta.
If I had an airline company for truth, I’d call it
‘Delayed’


Passengers of scarcity
We are.
We can see now.
Hungry for some light, always on the lookout
For the outside glow, to warm up dead bowels.
But
Passengers of scarcity
We were.
You just couldn’t see.
Your eyes mistook you.
For what were the words and dreams but the ailments of our locked-up souls
Already burning from within
Alone
Covered in the rags of self-deceit;
Ashes to the old

So little are you
So nothing you were.
Eyes breeding monsters
In your decadent corpse.
All your lies, all your animals
You put them here, not me!
Hunger has made its way through thy heart
And they have died in your cage.
Empty chuckle.
*** pause.









It was a poopause. At least one in your useless life.(just kidding)


So scarce.
The forced smile. The faded ‘hello’ to passing stranger
The hours of mindless thoughts and petty hopes.
Criminal mediocrity.
Vessels of going somewhere for
Going somewhere.
The to-do
To do.
To do something.
But really nothing struck you.
Desert.
A little too much food won’t fulfill it.
The phone fell silent with my lips –oh friends I need more than you-
The smoke of cigarettes is powder to your eyes
But nothing else.
Walk
Walk
Without purpose
Without even an idea of purpose
.
Isn’t it eternal Justice,
That those who have less
Have less.
Isn’t it eternally Just.
Of course, it’s hard for us the passengers
But there can’t be winners without losers though...
Still,
Reasons of the thirst...do not quell the thirst.

So what! What can we say! What can we do!
Oh! Who will save me.
Gimme some light sweet mamma!
Gimme some light!

Somewhere in the distance, two things:
a baby is born
-Blue-eyed-;
A gambler rolled the dice
-Eyes closed-;
A light sprung and a light dimmed
-You need black and white to draw pupils-
And my evening sky turned a dark pale of night.

I was born against my will in a land that God forgot                
My parents didn’t ask me whether I was for or not
Anyway I learnt to appreciate it and to make with.                      
I was a spoiled child for I was loved and also clever                    
Mama’s proud and cooked my food, though already  a liar,    
My dad I did not see him too much, he was a blacksmith.    
If there’s one very single thing I learnt all through these years
About moral, equality, justice, life, about here :                      
There ain’t no point and  you only live to struggle and writhe ;

The world it’s noisy, it’s foolish, it’s random, and it’s torn                
But still, I hadn’t been yet to the place where the buses get born.


The school it’s been a funny place to grow up teacher and child,
They lock you up learning life in a box and still I smiled,
The woman she was **** though couldn’t know what it meant
They stuffed my skull ‘til full and they blew the wind out my ears
With weary new ideas, with politically correct fears ;
After a necessary brainwashing, ready to be sent
Ready for society, for the actual system
You don’t understand it, but It’s made to make you one of them
They don’t even know it’s their own closed freedom that they lent

The greatest of all: it’s in the same school about it you been warned
And still, they keep well hidden the place where the buses get born


All the time I played football, I’s a great swimmer and all
They taught me to respect my body, to keep a plain soul
They told me to be generous and righteous and modest
And I was celebrated as the best, very handsome,
Clever and nice, have friends, don’t be a ****** or lonesome ;
It was fair and I agreed, to earn respect, to hold high my chest
I was proud and fulfilled to be me, you’d call that vanity
But you helped as well the lie, nor missed I a quality
We arrive here naked, my myself ain’t mine the slightest

Against the world’stones which you belong I been carved and worn
If only we’d known  the place where the buses get born

Then on the way I became adolescent and aware
Of the happy merry-go round, of my weight on the chair
They told me I was windlike free, free to serve somebody
Overall to think as they do, as their fathers done before
To hate ******, Ignorance and Hatred and all the wars
To vote right or left and to avoid what they call ****
They gave those names to the different parties for me and you
Having easy to choose, without knowledge, interest too
You don’t need it for sure when you remember the big History

We can tell you what you want, even that chicken is corn
Cause you’d never seen the place where the buses get born


While living and probably others meaningful thingies
Came suddenly that handful of flaming pies harmonies
My brain couldn’t believe  my ears and it tried to tell them
But my mouth’s busy singing what I soon know was Music
Later on behind a folk jew it melted with lyrics
That’s when I bought my guitar,but first I went to ask mum
Some insects were able to write a melody so plain
Like it could  ease me support me and even cease the pain
But half of me died when I realized they’dnever come

I’ve been caught by the thirty years old bullet that shot Lennon
He must lie waiting for me, in the place where the buses get born.


I was told about the religions, lies and confusion
My dad always believed in Nothing without exception
God ain’t something but a joke, a lie, a drug, and a tool
Created by mankind and used and believed and deceived
For explaining and getting all that he hadn’t received ;
But the invention became the master and put the rules
The expert they tell you now it’s good story and advice
It is love and light for the humans, just like the green mice
Do you think we need it, d’you truly think we're such a fool

We don’t want you ages twisted manufactured gods to adorn
For the only truths reside inside the place where the buses get born

Thinking a while, it’s just matter of interpretation
When you speak with hidden words, expect incomprehension
I’m not the one to decide if either the terrorists
That we so truly abhor are even right or are wrong
Nor am I to say using violence is to be strong ;
But time is a big wheel, and for instance the communists :
Ain’t we all looking for equality between men and more
When it will stop turning, when truth’ll be knocking at your door
At the trial of History they’ll be hung or utopists

The movie can’t be finished  by the end of the popcorn
Nothing never ends except in the place where the buses get born



Let’s talk about *** now because we are all here for that,
The dwarf, the Jew, the tall, the black, the women and the fat
Sometimes the disabled, excuse me if I had a laugh
Stupid instinct, horrible animal-like, true love so
When two lovers so entwined forget a while the sorrow
We learnt sciences freely and openly on photograph
I lost half my time thinking about and trying to get it
Maybe more, I’m a man, I’m a ***, I’m a stupid ***
If I have a ***** if I’m gay, now I can choose my path.

Although I don’t like it, it’s normal, I can even watch ****
But I haven’t been excited since in the place where the buses get born


T’was a long time and now, I met that rainbow-voiced bird
We tried to talk, we tried to sing,  although nothing was heard
But as Lea says ‘you cannot expect too much, can you’
I went to the cupboard where she keeps well seen all her secrets
Some daddy’s book and cried photographs for my fake cigarettes
She held a handful of her soul and french fries necklace too
Fortunately I was blind and could only read the words
I wanted to talk about Wednesday afternoon, the third
Now I got my hopes in my pocket, and my pride to chew.

And these visions of Keira, they keep me up past the dawn
The night never falls in the place where the buses get born

My stand-up dreams are haunted but for a colorself ghost
It keeps on coming and going, either the train’s there or lost
The thief he’s on the flight but on his back still lie his lies
The Ladies of the game play quietly their tricks until night
‘Pleasure is the aim’ they argue, and me, I’ve stopped to fight
My body it’s wired and distant, like wish were my minds
The commander-in-chief he’s busy with thoughtful statements
The memory lays far with her, in her kitchen, in her basement
And on the paintings, on the screen, in each and every line

There’s something beautiful and suicidal and full of scorn
With that kind of love that doesn’t matter in the place where the buses get born

When Love ain’t love when a pile of regrets lies on your floor
And you’re patiently waiting Forgiveness to cross the door
Where will you turn to, who will you ask and where will you go
When you’ve lost only the chorus of all you need is love
When your clouds have hidden from you the faithful stars above
What will be left, what rope will you hold and what will you know
You could try alcohol, drugs, meaningless ***, try to have fun
You could buy forget  yet doctor ain’t cheaper than a gun
There is hardly no mistake you regret less than a blow.

Everyone must have a conversation with the father of the sun
No cries ever come out  the place where the buses get born


The truth is still present  you know, it lies beneath the waves
You should’ve seen her face when she told me Eleanor’s been saved
Likewise images of she and her impregnate my skin :
As the masterpiece unmatched socks near a pile of dead books
She hadn’t read them-she needn’t- I can tell by her looks :
I know her well, I had little time with her and two evenin’
When Celine burnt a cigarette-shaped unclosed scar in my heart.
All those pictures I recollect preciously since we’re apart.
She’s the reason and the ends of all my thefts, ‘f all my sins.

I shout for her, strumming madly , blowing my hollow horn
For her to hear me there, in the place where the buses get born

at moon,
we resorted to land our hopes back on earth,
to cast our eyes
away from the shrivelled skies
and back to earth,
for by looking up
we felled our legs,
broken kneed,
we rushed with blind feet in deepening mud

sobbing in the cold
lets steal a glance to the warm ******* of middle aged women
who speak of the weather
that speaks of their minds

blank sheets filled w sweat
turn and turn around the legs
the neck burning,
though water trickle its way to some ***
the eyes dewy at morning
the heart darkened and the mind howling in agony
but the soul,
thirsty soul,
still gritted against sleep

hey babe
what you've been hiding
in the cupboard of your truth?

a broken tear
filled w old sun,

i m just running after
some kind of youth
And i fear
it's just begun

She walks out on me
like mud
spattered through her days

And my colourless sun,
mudded in desire
Lay, crumpled in the maraches of expelled memories.
my outcasts little thoughts
They been friends of mine for long
I wish them the pangs of the island
Lonesome at *****,
like madman in farandoles.
And blind beasts
running amok.
A last time or so
please...

free ill be or so i hope
And hope for sunrise
is still a light

Broken-hearted at dawn full of smiles and hellos
sobbing silence in the early hours
spluttered stain on shattered day

Love-curdling dance at midnight
The vultures were always around
w a slice of meat in the beck
and two under their wings
If only the troubled bridge did not go over spirituous flow
and the redhead mermaids...
oh lemme go, lemme go to them
little love in the blur
lemme see if sinews break before bedsprings
if flesh melt before lust
Or is that your flighty temptress, old bearded fool,
to keep time w time,
mind with stich,
and spike w grime,
and recline over
disecrated limbs?

And all the Rainbows on my bed
with their colorful tunes full of laughter
and those gateway suns of her's
Couldn t wipe out
The shadows that lay in my head

All the italian spring on my time
pools of rain and pain for fools that make her laugh and cry
were for both of us
but the premices of our dawn
and the silver worth losing
Down the golden road

oh smile at my window
Reflects swearing up the block
Of stolen nights, in mindless chimes
Purple evenings, with your face in my haze
My smokes before my eyes
Hid that tenderness under my threadbare hands
that couldn t give and wait, weep and break
boy, don t you dare asking what you never gave
Tell me sweet faced girl, which step did i miss, on the staircase of your love

(the sound of footsteps in my memory.
wipe the dust of memories off your shoes!
...silence at my doorstep...)




They locked smile into smile
And time ran the soft chain around their wrists
them that could not stir a single sigh from past
and who with clenched teeth looked back in wonder
palms aimless, aimlessly reaching for the sun that never falls, but neither stays
On bitter pillows they laid each night,
From prayer to blasphemy they racked

And painted blue eyes black,
For the requiem

Parchment throats that breath but to burn
Glitter eyes under the makeup of lies
Alcohol hands rising through their mightlessness
And sweet, sweet heart that cries but no one...

O girls of the west, your windy laughter
Is it made for the leaves of my youth?
Do you remember her when you remind me of her face?
blended though pure, serene traits of whoredom cavalcade your dances
The fall in its glory, throw myself golden limp
On velvet flesh billowing, clawed, teeth gnawed, throw myself broken beast rampaging
wrecking and wracking through your hours of shadiness, through your shades of impudor...

Gorgeous...

Fling your tongue, snake in tasty waters
Pierce my heart, bass drum to your beat
Red harbour of my lust, scorned love
for scared trials, and scared fingers
Red harbour of my lust, oooh
The time is drawing close
can t you feel when the night pursues
That sometimes when the light is right
And it agrees w the dark, the dark w the shade, and the shade w the sound and the sound w the blood
and the blood w the fruit
and the fruit w the seed
and the seed w the brain
and the mind w it
and the mind w the pride
and the pride w the strength
and the strength w the taste
anf the taste w the girl
and the girl w the night
if the night pursues, when all and all agree together, the night pursues alone
Can t you feel then. You are a god.

"Gorgeous, I am a god"
"But are you mine?" shimmer smirk, that me eye caught. -Shall I get closer-arm to waist, close...closer
Mocking pout, disavowing tighs,
her eyes fell inside for the beat
Catch it back that twinkle in the air boy
Closer...
I got your eyes back gorgeous.
Questions lash
"I am a god"
kindling sigh
Sugar sigh
Surrender sigh

Gorgeous...
Thats when the whip comes in,
"I am a god" thinkst thou no more
Thats when the whip comes in, and wait for the great fleet to anchor... "anchor..." said she,
Red harbour of my lust...
in the ****** of your charms I stole my deity, silver goddess you re truly, get back, get back on your knee
Plead and plead, ablaze beat
Tide to tide, swirling heat
Burn for burns, licking seat
My's in my's... amor's bead
Rolling tenderly down her back

Gorgeous...
where shall I stop?
And where should I?

Lost to be found, every little girl want to be
Broken to be one, every little girl want to be
Yours to be her, every lil girl want to be

Through night's maze, i ll always miss my girl
i ll collect my dreams of her's like precious pearls
On the necklace of my heart

Through work haze, i d always keep her name
Shining forth my way out the dull and lame
if only her name wasn t a part

She played for me dice
and her smile and her smile and her twice
both for me and I, were but my dream of flesh
And the flesh of my dreams

I hold her in those dreams
but not for long
I hold her but free she is
and free belongs


i ll write the true colour of her eyes one day
when i stumble over all the words and come back unheard
I ll come back unscared, though not unhurt
And i ll shine forth the rhyme of her
only a couple of lines, a speck of sounds
but the true ones
not the truest
the true ones
And I ll awake then, i long to awake so
I ll awake my fine verse on my mind
I ll reach the window, and open my day w the curtain in a shower of morning
And the window once open, i ll let my verse fly away in the fresh breeze, over the land and far away, and forget as quickly as i d turn, to face the bed where my love and I have laid, and
still lay

Summer has gone,
so softly
like the finger on the cheek

Now winter is there
As the night rides the dawn
And the cold pierces us
like nails on babies cheeks

my brethren in lie
take some raiment off your heart
and open the nakedness to true warmth

In and throught the alcohol hollow light
we stumble and rise frozen hands to greying skies
That harbour but no hope
no warmth either escaped the prison clouds
to rescue shallow heart
That frost has taken

Beneath evening's land were we to...

You know ive hurt
a long time below
i believed my lies
and once i saw
I had to forgive the child i was
the child im still

Your evening prayer
it rose up in the air
i catch it w my ear
then lay down in silence
every word that i fear:

you know i ll hurt
a long time and more
i believed your lies
and now i know
I ll have to forgive me, for loving you
For loving you still

Your morning parlour
is filled with strangers
who forgot their lipsticks
and lay down in wonder
how does it feel being homesick

And baby I heard your heart weeping in the dark
thru memories night we wander often
each one has its own road now
would have we believed that, when we first met?

We were children and we are much child still
though the eyes grow a little bluer under time

See love, summer has come back
the yellow woods await
in the declining light

pitiless sun
cast its shameless eye
again and ever again
on our naked hands
goodbye

love staggers on crooked paths
w blind eyes and numb hands
As everything against him it seems
Is it any wonder that cry is like rain and pain

They talk money, through the early morn
and the dowsy breeze outside
and the rolling sun in my hand they say
is none of our business

Cheaper cornflakes I ve dreamt once
And the sightless pictures all agreed
from afar
Drowsy evening I ve prayed too
Oh glory of the heroes, Stars of the past
Walking down LA avenue with sunglasses


We ve waited for a storm that didn t come
and the fruits on the tree, and the song of the bee
have decayed and corrupt
Rotten air pinching at

My god just happened to me yesterday

And it shone blood, dark red blood.

The papers are red, the peepers are bled.

Shall we ever forgive us for being born? Shall we resurge with new hands for new signs?

Or will our fate slide towards inevitable mud? The question is lit, in every human nerve, but in mine burning coal replaces burning eyes and I cry in the Pompeian destruction of my heart.

Stand tall for those who fail.

This will be my last command,

Stand tall for those who fail.

When alone I met the voice

In my deserted glassy skies

There was no doubt in me

Whenever I made the choice

It is not within my eyes

But within what’s within me

Once I held my hand to Joyce,

To Jim, John, those isolated highs

For we share blood as we share sea


Albatross and ravens drop redfruits, so many. Long-time sleepers awake of nightmermaids to fall back in dreamlocks ; O but the captain, my captain is on the dock with the roman republic : hail! Hail! We share a destiny. Hail Hail again, for we share a destiny.

Long-time travelers, dust-looking woman playing virginity dices on the banks. But the dice is taken in the sand, but the dice is taken in the sands.

Shall you see, dearest eye, towards deadland eternal open borders, shall you sail and accost with symmetric feet? Or will you go, one fingertip at the time? The question is thrown, but the answer is late ; it happens in the waves of human fates, as past is present in the lines of human face, and reels right on left, heels lipton tighs.

Captain!

The ship is rigged and we see each other from above our natural talents, thus we share but the sight of our mutual tempests, to appease us, in a fraternal horror. For we do not share no language... Hear me! We do not share no language! I hear your screams and shrieks in which you draw your heart, and I know – for we all know – those words, those only we learnt to know from each other. When we gather, we understand, our disharmonious tongues all say but once ‘We do not share no language’. That’s all we’ll ever know for sure.

And a singer drew his breath for us ; a sinking philosopher renamed air water so he would not die drowning ; and the singer drifts in breeze for us ; the ghost of self-belief knived my beatle knight, an killed all worth believing in him ; and the singer drools on *** with ease. Cry! We’ll never be mass-ters again. These stars shone in London, in the plain of Po and in the Pan desert, but no ashes can help us steering our way. Solemnly I declare, Dear Sir or Dead Seer.

Bang shoot the earthbow.

It is the way the word ends, not with a full sound but within a comma,

Throw off the lights. Throw off the light


Wake up Marzia, the day has broken and the needles await

“Italia will come to you at last” she said smiling

But me, I felt nothing, like rolling water all around

And the dead sound that hit my ear was maybe

The remnants of her smile breaking on sunlight.    



“Hide the mirror! Hide it far away from the people of Night,”

“For shall we risk ourselves again aiming for old illusions.”

“Leave that to children” she said, and in me,

The words rang quite in tune:

“It’s a new melody, it’s a new melody” said I

Although I knew the chords.



“My sleep is not yours” she said, but she said it from so far

“My sleep is not yours” she said, voice of mistery,

Doesn’t belong to any body at leash.

“Is the room empty ?” I cried in fear

“Yes, I heard she said, like yesterday and today, and the nights before.




Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeams came from the cupboard!

No, these were mine

“Oh my God am I here all alone!”

Marzia, Marzia, Snow Queen of the Fall

Gather, Gather for the feast

Deliver us in beauty from our fatal quest to meaning!

White Queen, shoot it straight

White Queen, here we go again round that morning spear




“Marzia can you hear ! Can you feel !”

“Yes, but she didn’t respond me, I can see, I can see ! I’ve closed my eyes”

“Butter Queen! Take me in your depths,
Sliding down the road of consciousness with you.”

“Have you taken my chocolates, she said.”

“I am doing it, from the Everest Pinpoint”

-Echoes are chiming like morning haze-

“Mi scopia il culo!”

“White Queen, Come take my pain away.”

How come you taste so good, Jagger told me

-She ‘s always been sugary-

“We’ve eaten the hours, but they’re vomishing us, said she”

“How can it be only monkeys climb my tree”

“I know what it’s like to be alive.”

“Silence !”

“Silence !”



Silence indeed was falling back, featherlike

.
Pillowfully painting, pillowfully painting, pillowfully painting...


“I must leave”
                                
     Eyes, ceiling, glue. Blue eyes, blond hair. Italia first.
     Eyes, sealing, girl. Blue eyed, blond waves. Italian flesh.

“I know what it’s like to be left”            
                    
      High sea, reel blue. Blue eyes, blond hair. Weaver thirst.
      Bye thee, healing pearl. Blue heart, blond days. Happens fast.



    Six hundred and eighty two lambs
             for October the sixth


                  Come by at three, come by at three


                                                         ­                                                I left without me

Morning with Goya

Crimson flames running through the pages
‘Frozen words coming from the depths of lost ages’
Melting darkness slipping under my door
‘There’s still a smell of hatred but unlike before,(unlike before),’
Drops of light dripping from the window
‘Wooden birds swimming round and low’
Gusts of wine swirling in my head
‘Flittering memory of a dead.’
Glasses of colour rising softly in the air
‘Flying pigmees all smily and bare.’
The song of a distant ocean beating in rhyme with the heart of my beloved one
‘The laughter of a dwarf riding the sun’
And the thunder of the road stroke again
I saw great green lightnings of blood and hair
‘The flies in the suitcase of a monkey drawing brains’
‘I once fell in love with a bear’
Happy thoughts scrowling on the kitchen floor
‘The silence of pain ****** someone somewhere near the door’
The last ashes of a prayer vanished suddenly
‘Golden tears washing out slumbers eventually’
The rest of a forgotten dream is disappearing in the world-sink
‘Chains of past sensually dancing, without a blink’
Flittering memory of a dead
Fleeting smoke of a foreign freedom
‘Black horses painting (repeatedly) the top of my head’
‘Switching letters and pencils crossing the day “Lonesome”’

Only way to have your hand waving free
Is holding a gun, (‘just like me’.)

The past has got broken feet
it walks only cause you drag it with you

the future lies bare on the blanket
Naked as a newborn baby.
He's got your eyes, girl, yes.
But it's your choice to dress.


Or ****

My love she speaks secretly  
When everyone’s full of sleep  
By metaphor, under mist’ry  
When the only sound comes from the creep  
I watch her lying there  
While my conscience grows  
And I strike her soft hair  
Crownlike as it flows

My love she laughs endlessly
When the wings of truth unfold
When everybody is sleepy,
And when the slumbers are waxed in gold.
The road outside is quiet
The night it’s ours
Nearby the lampposts’light
Slowly drift the hours.

My love she never blinks
Looking straight at you, at me
Still I just can’t guess what she thinks
The truth is best hidden in plain see.
When she waves with the bed
‘N’ whispers of her dreams,
I ignore what she said,
She takes my head and screams.

My love she’s a broken mirror
Tell her about wealth and fame
About colors, secrets and fears
For her, it’s only and all the same ;
She beholds shades and rain
She can sneeze the moon
That folds under our train
Can make love to a spoon.

My love she lies in my room
But I’m wanted on the street
Restless then all absent and doom
There’s the world breathing upon my feet.
Sounds from the opp’site loft
And storm in my minds
I am fading off
In her delicate lines.  

My love she’s a shoeless debter
She owes nothing to no one
She only takes what pleases her
And then sails away likewise the swan.
I feed  me on herself
I’m thirsty, hungry
I wait on her bookshelf
To devour that body.

My love she loves like the fog
All around you at the shore,
Tender and faithful like the dog
She disappears ‘s soon you ask for more.
Oh! and she’s so heavy
Spread your legs more, love
Turn again on me
Let’s try with you above.

My love she’s like some sparrow
Full of feather while she sings
Softly for us and the pillow,
She’s the master of time when she swings.
The fire burns brightly
But not as my love
Although she has left me
To fly with the doves.

Night was coming  and the wind was sweet as a woman’s breath.
Earlier in the evening, he had fallen -subtle word, for the roar that dwells inside of it ; quiet word, for the tempest it harvests-, he had fallen in love.
Earlier in the afternoon, the summer sun was beating upon moulting trees and broken crops, humming his haunting hymn in the fleshes. The fire, yet, was not lit. And desire was stirred, shaken like water kept in a volcano.

A heart. A heart. A heart.
Beat.

Earlier in life, the road had seemed long, like a doubt unspoken ; tedious as an argument with a woman ; empty as a drunkless hour.
Earlier in life, he was wrong.
Earlier in life, there was no life.
Earlier in life, there used to be some ‘shimmering’dreams.
In those earlier dreams, the future laid bare, The future used to say: Tomorrow, shall be yesterday’
I couldn’t believe it.
So I tied my ears to my shoes, in an attempt, fruitless attempt –for you know Man- to cover up for my songs and joy.
Now, I’ve burnt down my guitar.
But my fingers are still bleeding
As I type, as I write
As I remember.

‘Give me you fruitless blood, before midnights cross our eyes !’
‘Shed on me, white queen, your lost echoes, of lost paradises !’

But the craving man is a liar
Lea, she told him you know,
‘All the drifters lie finally in jail
The ones with clouds on their eyes
Are those who want what they’ll fail’
Could have Bob Dylan been left-handed
Or shaved his eyebrows
Ezra Pound’s style.

A lie is a joke, a joke is a lie.
Every joker will tell you
Every liar will, if you ask him
Politely.

‘Won’t you come see me, white queen !’
‘Won’t you come ease me, white queen !’
‘Come, take my pain away !’

Dead men cross no islands,
Or betray no shine
Of golden tears and deserted columns
Dead men are better off
Than living like the folks of here

For the road is cold
As disdain
And disdain again
In the shameless eyes
Of beautiful women.

But let us not escape from our memories and from their haunting chill ; Our hearts are full now, and our voices warm of whispering goodbyes, so let us empty it, in an appalling flow, in fear that soon, awaking, we  discover it hollow.
It shall be heard. It shall be heard. It shall be heard.
And I put an ‘e’ to be polite.

There are a few things, a decent writer must tell, before engaging with your minds, the fight, between you and he, where the winner decides which one is to repaint with his colours, the useless circonvolutions of your brain.
When midnight crosses our eyes, with lavish manners and crimson tricks, with deceitful glimpses, in the anter of deserting intellect, and senses, we take our guitar to sing.

A guitar is a sound,
(In the night)
No wooden piece, no iron strings

A guitar is a voice
And its flight
No decadent tree,
No artistic pride.

A guitar is a wife
A guitar is a life
We have so many.

‘In the hour of my deepest need… ‘
‘I shall measure out the ingratitude of men with matchsticks’
‘And toilet papers… rolling, rolling, rolling… under the door’

Louise is still in bed.
     It is almost eleven, Louise lies in her bed.
     She lies, entangled in the multiple blankets that shape with lights and shades the delicate curves of her body.
     Her hair flows softly on the pillow where they lay.
     One of her leg, skinny but still forceful is spread out of the warm shield of the covers : A white arrow against the crimson mattress, and her smell fulfills the room.
    It is a drunk sensation, that smell, like a rough rush of desire as a perfume.

    Her white complexion distinguished itself clearly on the brass pillow, her sleek blond hair shining, her head hangs slightly on the left and she wears a dreamy face. And again that heady smell of her.
    A man has taken his clothes and escaped by the window a few minutes ago, or more. The sound of a ragman praying in the distance is still ringing through.
    The window open wide allows the breeze in, throwing the red curtains billowing. The chill is there too, engaged in a mighty fight against the protection of the blankets. The sun is pouring like burning coal inside, all of gold and beams.
    The flowered wallpaper, yellowish now due to the ages’ action, emanates a soft warmth ; an old lady has just sneezed somewhere ; the picture of the madonna peers quietly over the room, all over the big brass bed, half-drowned in a vivid light.Oh, and that unwearable smell likewise a goddess body, entrancing.
    
     Louise, she’s just near, she moves, rolling tenderly on her side, in an endless struggle against the reawakening. Stretching a leg now, crunching on herself then, the mouth slightly open ; a sugary breath blows between her ivory teeth.
     The bed seems too big for her, she could have shrunk during the wild blazing nighttime, though I doubt it.
     The murmur of the blankets rippling can be heard to the advert ear. The sandman is on a beach in Florida now : only the defense of her fragile eyelids remains. A deck of cards has been scattered on the floor, the jack of hearts swimming flat in a pool of hopes.
    
     Outside, across Greenwich Village, nobody can guess that baby isn’t blessed, but that’s all our fate too. A man is sliding, a hat on his eye, round the corner of the avenue, God knows he paid some dues but now it makes it only seem so cruel.
    The lamppost mule is holding up the skies, folding upon the world, that makes the dogs bark but they are only dogs, remember it.
     What if Mona Lisa was not smiling and the Chineses were blind ? The highway happy, and the rumbling thunder shivering ? Like a roar, those questions still echo in the air, but she does not care, just like a little girl.
     Her pearly fingers run across her face, through her hair and down her eyes. She bridges languorishly her back to the ceiling and falls back featherlike, lying now straight.
     Two spotlights of blue and mist opened, staring at the ceiling, the dreadful ceiling. Images of past and future, of lovers and crooks swirling in front of her : she’s awake.
    
     A fat budgie sings like silence from a corroded cage in the darkened corner ; A bra and a shirt hang from it but no one really cares. The rumbling of the crowds, the soundtrack of our life. A tree near the window shatters the blinding light that bursts in the room. And that smell… it’s so hard to get on.
     Likewise the leopard, she stands out her nest, softly, without any noise and with great grace. She grabs a shirt that she let on her shoulders floating to her hips, to protect the body from the haunting chill, and she strikes the fat budgie.
    The floor it is cold, she walks, she floats on her tiptoes to the window ; as she walks, the sunshine draw ghosts of valleys, hills and forests upon her flesh. Dignity is carved in her features, meanwhile the spirit of sensuality howls in the bones of her face.
    A strand of hair taunts her eye as her mane seems to follow every breath, every pace she takes, timelessly. She removes that strand arrogantly. An eternity had just passed when she arrived at the window, an eternity of elegance that no school can ever teach, that no one can ever learn.
    
   She stands, framed by the pouring light, bathed in clarity, like an angel on the window ledge. A restless memory of him has disappeared : she said she was called Johanna yesterday, she said  she would never forget, neither of them believed it, she said watery words, she spoke from her watery lips, once. The egyptians pretended that every new day was a new world, she’s not egyptian. Still she does not feel yesterday anymore. She just stands there, framed by the pouring light, the beauty of the world and the beauty of my lover so entwined,  an oblivion conquers our minds.
     She looks but does not see ; She listens but does not hear ; she exists, she does not live and she spends a lifelong while at those window. Greenwich Village, the green and gold and brown and grey daytime light and tree and street. The shirt dancing on her sides, she smiles mirthful, her shiny eyes seem to encompass the whole universe in a sight, or two. She is present, she is here, she is her. Like she never done before…
    
    Maybe she has stood the trial of time at this window, carved in an instant of perfection, maybe she is flying with the doves by now, heading for the gates of Eden, maybe, she has jumped…anyway.
Oh, and that smell of her, is now all that remains.