Caught no eyes for Reds
No stomach for butterflies: words I
shoulda never've said
My hands are waisted
Lungs ablaze, torched by low water
Levi's
Modern man, I am, so suspended
All my lives, always I've been dependent?

I have no ears for nothings,
No matter how sweet
A nose ain't for roses nor pale concrete
Better served in service towards
Some dream, c'est fantastique...
A matter of mind, weighed Large Above
Kerouacian seams
Borne back, never to cease
My bones; clattered and battered an American beat

Some soul for a saving, suppose
No faith for the golden fleeced,
Howe'er a lion takes the meat, God knows
Of heart, I weigh much
But suffer no touch, unfeasted on an Appled iCore
How vacant must one be!
For life to give purpose, for Heaven to speak
How persistent a rose from a Sidewalk's end grows
Yet unlike a bull, I'll cane no Calgary

L’aspro e suadente sospiro cauto sussurra:
Dolce una litania intona,
Mentre la coscienza si annulla
E lo spirito ritrova la sua corona.

Cresce il ricordo di un desiderio
Sepolto da convenzioni,
Porto ultimo di un mistero,
Che ammassa e rovina costrizioni.

Crea piacere nel dolore,
E dolore nel piacere.
Icore ramato, si diffonde l’odore.
Così si rafforza un potere,

Potere d’amore,
D’amore odioso e perverso.
Utilità d’onore,
D’onore perso.