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I am the utterance

I am the movement

I am the scars of the rocks

where the tempest had crashed on.


am the Form

poetry, powerful

for I was bequeathed a vessel

endowed with its mighty features.


Strength was bestowed upon me

the loyalty of Mass was bestowed upon me

complicity of Time was bestowed upon me

power of Integrity was bestowed upon my metamorphosis.


I was given the utmost solidity

I am the only one writing landscapes

springing in lines

erupting triangles

mäelstroming in spirals

inscribing circles and tori around the universe


though always Being.


However, I

quantum of the temples

unit of the contemporaries

hadn't been drawn with the wisest of inks.


never have I lasted for them

never have I joyed for them

never have I been safe for them,

the Humans.

For I have nuances.

For they wish me to change

For they wish me to change back





Behind me, Death

in my car, towards home

I sure can't feel the future, slipping in my hand

through this trough the trees are moving

so then I share this story with you,

my beloved friend,

I am


you will

love it.




Those dents on the side of my car

are reminding me everything gets old

me, I am getting there

but some of us are fine, already.


Sitting here, honey through my lips

sharing it with you and looking ahead again.


So safe it's gonna kill us

so strange you can't realise

so magic it comes from nowhere

so famous nobody supports it

so quick it lasts forever

so special

so wry.

So long, my dear old friend

said that guy, don't know his name,

said that guy at my father's funeral.

So twisted his words, old-fashioned

ways of bid a friend farewell.

So long, he kept on saying,

I wish you a nice travel

through the land of the dead.


Death, now behind me,

I am looking at her, and hear

the soundtrack of a forgotten movie.

Sweet sweet forgetfulness

hit me now, kill me now

empty my stomach with your dry laughter

change the disposition of my bones and flesh

let me hear again the voice of who's gone for good

let me apologise with him because I was sad and young.











It's when you touch me now

now, just now,

in this old wrecked car

with Sweet Lady right behind me

when I see you lifting your arm with intention

and caress my neck wandering in the land of my shoulder

It is right now

your Movement

when the palm of your pensive hand

is being subsided by its rougher back


it is now, since they caress me in equal ways

that a marker crystallises in my history

and I stop the war inside my head

and I love as much as I can give

because there is no hand,

because there is no caress

there is no Movement

without its source

which I now






Striped like a blank page


holy like water of the sea

I wait for you

to know me

to know me

and feel me

like warm Touch



It's 3 pm

and the spring is coming

but on the other side.

I leave you wondering facing the ceiling

while hard light from the window takes your eyes

thus I can't resist taking them with mine.


And I can't help but thinking

that I should pass the back of my hand

on the softness of your skin,

that I should have through my fingers

a handful of your shoulder,

that I should cover your sides

with my sides, at once,

that I should reach with my lips

the tumidness of yours

and united we

shall be



[[[I am in an absurd coincidence

It could have been any other day]]]


I can't resist and I surrender

-while you reach my furious depths

and dig into the cave a hole

and put your supple body in it

and care to feel the strength of soil

and lie because it never lasts

and cry because you laughed before

and see the sun that's going down

and turn around to see me again

and crouch in your beloved position

while ground is coming onto you

so now you are with me forever

and nobody will take you away

not even who's supposed to guard me

from me, the man who blooms off love.


Timeless mind,

fighting on the field of symbols,

shooting us with golden Touch.




Along the railroad the horseless carriage

riding fast, not fast as it could

the man who’s steering is bending, breathing

along the road some stops for resting.


Along the way some careless words,

given away by the lady passenger.

The driver looks, and looks again

then turns the wheels to unknown far lands.



We’re in infertile fields


The desert’s close as within us


Because we are driving

towards pain and beauty


No steps, no fast turns,

no rush, no hidden games.

No boosts, just feeling

of the road.


The grip of the steering wheel

I feel it, I feel it soft and strong.

it’s reaching my elbow, while I dare

to change the marching of my gear.


The grip, caressing back, still,

is now changing into sweat and smooth

the skin is moving under me

while I can’t look directly at you

but I see

you’re changing too


A flower blossoms in my car

so I know it’s spring and April

My hand after years still feels

the marching of the car, the Speed.

The shoulders made of air are lifting

the eyes that are sails cast off

the hands sticks of shepherds guiding

the breasts made of wind blow furious

the hair waves of ocean deepening

the thighs house of secrets falling

the minds once untamed now resting

the glory of the moment

the Speed had took control

and pleasant now releases

its charm, and fades away.


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