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"scusa" poems
In a small bistro, on Bleeker Street. They serve you a proper cup of cappuccino. Made from an espresso maker brought over from Milan in 1929, and served in an  ivory colored china cup. In the foam on top is the signature swirl of the Barista. There is a handsome young waiter, with a serving towel hung over his left arm, and a crumber, in his back pocket. He leans over, scrapes the remnants of the previous customer's biscotti into his hand, and says to you in a thick, dark curly haired, Italian accent, sounding like a young Giancarlo Giannini, And what will you be having today Signorina? You think to yourself, I have worked all day at my mundane job and here is a man who truly loves what he does for a living. He most likely was born into a family of waiters, and he loves serving me. I would like a cappuccino please. As he walks away, you take out your pen and paper and begin your daily addiction of writing poetry. He notices you, noticing him. You can almost read his mind as he watches you write. He watches your pen and paper and wonders.... Is this mysterious poetess who has been sitting in the corner writing about me?. Waiting for the proper time to interrupt your fervent writing, he brings your order and you take it to your lips.   He watches from a distance, anxiously awaiting the look on your face. You have never had anything so wonderful. The coffee flavor bursts on your tongue and you are born again. The gentle foam with its signature swirl is now on your upper lip, and you give the young waiter a satisfied smile. He rushes to your table and takes the serving towel from his arm to gently pat the foam from your lips. You look into his dark eyes and see the new you, the you who will no longer order just a cup of coffee. The you who will seek out the signature foams of life, and wear them on your lips forever more. The handsome waiter smiles a smile of contentment, his hard work has pleased you. He brings you a fresh slice of torte Caprese and says, Try this Signorina, it is my favorite. You are now in heaven. All of life dissolves in one single bite. *Scusa Signorina, but I could not help noticing how beautiful you are and that you are writing a poem, may I ask what it is about?* He looks deep into your impossibly blue eyes, and you say to him. You!
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Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
Scene From A Bleeker Street Bistro
In a small bistro, on Bleeker Street. They serve you a proper cup of cappuccino. Made from an espresso maker brought over from Milan in 1929, and served in an  ivory colored china cup. In the foam on top is the signature swirl of the Barista. There is a handsome young waiter, with a serving towel hung over his left arm, and a crumber, in his back pocket. He leans over, scrapes the remnants of the previous customer's biscotti into his hand, and says to you in a thick, dark curly haired, Italian accent, sounding like a young Giancarlo Giannini, And what will you be having today Signorina? You think to yourself, I have worked all day at my mundane job and here is a man who truly loves what he does for a living. He most likely was born into a family of waiters, and he loves serving me. I would like a cappuccino please. As he walks away, you take out your pen and paper and begin your daily addiction of writing poetry. He notices you, noticing him. You can almost read his mind as he watches you write. He watches your pen and paper and wonders.... Is this mysterious poetess who has been sitting in the corner writing about me?. Waiting for the proper time to interrupt your fervent writing, he brings your order and you take it to your lips.   He watches from a distance, anxiously awaiting the look on your face. You have never had anything so wonderful. The coffee flavor bursts on your tongue and you are born again. The gentle foam with its signature swirl is now on your upper lip, and you give the young waiter a satisfied smile. He rushes to your table and takes the serving towel from his arm to gently pat the foam from your lips. You look into his dark eyes and see the new you, the you who will no longer order just a cup of coffee. The you who will seek out the signature foams of life, and wear them on your lips forever more. The handsome waiter smiles a smile of contentment, his hard work has pleased you. He brings you a fresh slice of torte Caprese and says, Try this Signorina, it is my favorite. You are now in heaven. All of life dissolves in one single bite. *Scusa Signorina, but I could not help noticing how beautiful you are and that you are writing a poem, may I ask what it is about?* He looks deep into your impossibly blue eyes, and you say to him. You!
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I 549 giorni fa scrivevo di aver fumato una sigaretta perché il sapore mi avrebbe ricordato te. prova a toccarmi con un braccio, mi passerai attraverso. sono trasparente, sono fluida, sono leggera. 549 giorni fa ero aria greve di umidità, ero fatta di aria pesante & sassi, ero inchiodata al pavimento. II 528 giorni fa scrivevo che nel cuore avrei avuto una lacuna incolmabile, un pezzo mancante sostituito dal tuo nome, come una confessione, un'ammissione di colpevolezza. mi sbagliavo. chi sei? ci siamo mai incontrati prima d'ora? no mi spiace, non mi ricordo come ti chiami, scusa.
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Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
cinquecento giorni fa.
'Ciao' 'Salve!' 'Un caffe con latte per favore.' 'Un cornetto?' 'No, un caffe con latte.' 'Ah, un gelato!' 'No! Un caffe con latte!' 'Latte con zuchero?' 'Why you idiot! I'm asking for a coffee!' 'Scusa?' '...'
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Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
Caffe con latte
under this gray suburban sky you look down and wait for sunrise, close your eyes and curse the fall mimic a caress and clench your fists spread water to start a fire and pretend to stop it with dry breeze by this forgotten corner of the universe as if nothing had, laziness is your excuse to forgive your loneliness and to pretend not to feel the unbearable pain dull mask on fragile bones perfect embroidery on hard stone ............................. sotto questo grigio cielo suburbano tu guardi in basso e aspetti l'alba, chiudi gli occhi e maledici la caduta imiti una carezza e stringi i pugni spargi acqua per accendere un fuoco e pretendi di fermarlo con il vento in questo angolo dimenticato dell'universo come se nulla fosse, la pigrizia è la tua scusa per perdonare la tua solitudine e fingere di non sentire il dolore insopportabile maschera opaca su ossa fragili ricamo perfetto su dura pietra
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Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
at the beginning of the sitxh mass extinction - lazi-loneliness n. 1