Light Grey Suit Abd Purple Shirt

the Index


buried in a suitcase I
dignity, white shroud of my soul ...
the key in his pocket a book ever written, and I went
for a self-imposed exile ...

I traveled in the direction of my journey,
thinking of nothing, contemplating nothing,
taking refuge in the wonderful essence of silence
... I suspect nothing ...

I enjoyed the time in depth look at the empty
, stand poised and
feel pain in the back, giving way to the inevitable
thoughts, uncontrollable
the birth of ideas.

I traveled in the direction of my journey,
made of missed opportunities in the property, with disheartening
sought solitude,
desired, feared,
made of memories, assumptions, contradictions ...

isolating themselves in an infinite tolerance, in
perpetual flight.

Sometimes, I have digressed,
the suitcase locked between the palms,
for fear that somehow
as a dark tunnel but-if-I
or who knows what desperate
the ocean-that-I was swallowing my few certainties
torn, wrapped with paper and
bread
swallow my dreams, dreams and eaten, frozen, petrified,
- the only ones in my possession -
- anything that has never been -

I walked to the inner rhythm of the mind,
bent by the weight of the suitcase of anxiety, choking
joy and exaltation.

A quick steps I wandered,
close in case of skin, the repellent
trivial occasions.

Franca



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