April's bench the bench
I wonder if the fever is gone, things like that. Make a smile which did not I expect, and that applies as gum carved cheekbones. I look down because I do not deserve this way you just stand in the world, this hint of life purely formal, rhetorical. But you m'incalzi again as if I were sick, the person begging speculate that the little 'time that remains. Saturday, May 1, 2010
I Need My Balls Waxed
Rather we are talking about us, how we met. Tell me the best moment, tell Sally, still humming and I do not remember already over. How to explain your departure, how to explain it to me and then all those who will not be when you have more time. How to prepare for that trill telephone, answer that yes, I had understood, but I was there I have not been able to stop, that little piece of the world.
I have blurred vision, a lot 'of alcohol that seems to have also had its effect, and a blister pack of antibiotics to manage the bottom of the stomach. You are here in less than ten inches from my hands, and I can not find the strength to stretch a little finger. The future stops, the past is laughing, expectations lie dying on a hospital bed that seems brighter than the others. But it's just the sun that beats the other hand, are my eyes do not stop to fix the hollow anodized window of room 14, I just did not want to understand anything of this absurd world of dealing with things and see it every time fade away, die of starvation.
Now the music is really cool, I have it in your ears because you're whistling now, and I wish I could scan every word because to repeat it in the din of relatives lost all that rhetoric that I need so much. I give myself another round below, just another ride to the bar to refresh the courage and shuffling the cards. I'll leave for another ten minutes, I know that I've never done that since it happened I feel like a boat in which they denied the deep, but when I do I feel a little 'better. Maybe that's how it works, maybe you see things better when you drink above. People come and go in the compartment 14 and the I numeretto I do not feel right. Not with you. Not today.
go down the stairs to the ground floor and it makes me fear that you forgot something back, breakfast in bed, crumbs on the groin or maybe everything else, I know. Why is breakfast in bed to do with the love that you do not tell, and why is it that all too often I let go, things: early in the morning most of the time, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. In his underwear.
sip my story, he savored the taste, I spend on the tongue and between teeth, I look down quickly down the stairs, turn around and then throw in a moment swallowed up by the road traffic. Forever. It 's so that should be mine, of things.
I only stop for a moment to cigarettes, two bars with the bartender, a few words on the final of Champions, a few words thrown on the counter as if they were pennies tip. And then the lemon vodka that burns in the esophagus and suddenly all the past that emerges as transparent as crystal clear of empty glass. But it is only a quick, naive, little cough.
So I run, I run stronger than the blocks of ZTL, I run stronger than all my insecurity. I look at all the corners of the outputs of the E45 slide off like they were bowling, I look at life like a mosquito stuck on the rearview mirror of my Clio 1.2 Metallic as the sky. And who cares if tonight I use the horn as a machete by scholars of the road, tonight I lose too much and I enjoy life reeling across the roadway, at least that.
parking downtown, I no parking on the broad shoulders. I look good from the white overalls of municipal, tonight I just want to play and put in czech fly away from the world. When I was young the world was all darkness of a hiding place and there was no need because he was trying to strut the world we thought. Even when there was nobody on the street and the street looked like a slow flowing liquid cement barges gray of the bypass, was the world and their bags of garbage that we were find. And blacks cats and moths from pasture to feast on. And when the world you are all finished with a count to ten, and at that point was I was doing the world and everything else that was always too far away to hide. Now there are more world and are not anymore, I just fear that before long I'll come to flush out and that I was impotent, inept, stupid on this bench in April.
await your appearance, the incisors rugano the fingertips, the fear that you know send me patiently. Learn about the code of my insecurity, you know how to stop the game. I
the stairs two at a time, I look at my face reflected on the plans of the department opaque. The sunset is beautiful, the rays pierce the windows and slap on the white tiles of blue polyclinic. Tonight I stopped wearing the best clothes and the mood of fresh laundry. The night I smiled, the lights brighten up the ward my feet, the women reciprocate trusting my eyes.
- See you in the center front of the arch.
- Ok. Front of the arch, tomorrow.
's so that we met, I remember now.
From that we make it with strawberries and shivering with that if they fly away. Insanity is a plane that staggers the takeoff, and living has never been more simple if you were not there.
I have blurred vision, a lot 'of alcohol that seems to have also had its effect, and a blister pack of antibiotics to manage the bottom of the stomach. You are here in less than ten inches from my hands, and I can not find the strength to stretch a little finger. The future stops, the past is laughing, expectations lie dying on a hospital bed that seems brighter than the others. But it's just the sun that beats the other hand, are my eyes do not stop to fix the hollow anodized window of room 14, I just did not want to understand anything of this absurd world of dealing with things and see it every time fade away, die of starvation.
Now the music is really cool, I have it in your ears because you're whistling now, and I wish I could scan every word because to repeat it in the din of relatives lost all that rhetoric that I need so much. I give myself another round below, just another ride to the bar to refresh the courage and shuffling the cards. I'll leave for another ten minutes, I know that I've never done that since it happened I feel like a boat in which they denied the deep, but when I do I feel a little 'better. Maybe that's how it works, maybe you see things better when you drink above. People come and go in the compartment 14 and the I numeretto I do not feel right. Not with you. Not today.
go down the stairs to the ground floor and it makes me fear that you forgot something back, breakfast in bed, crumbs on the groin or maybe everything else, I know. Why is breakfast in bed to do with the love that you do not tell, and why is it that all too often I let go, things: early in the morning most of the time, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. In his underwear.
sip my story, he savored the taste, I spend on the tongue and between teeth, I look down quickly down the stairs, turn around and then throw in a moment swallowed up by the road traffic. Forever. It 's so that should be mine, of things.
I only stop for a moment to cigarettes, two bars with the bartender, a few words on the final of Champions, a few words thrown on the counter as if they were pennies tip. And then the lemon vodka that burns in the esophagus and suddenly all the past that emerges as transparent as crystal clear of empty glass. But it is only a quick, naive, little cough.
So I run, I run stronger than the blocks of ZTL, I run stronger than all my insecurity. I look at all the corners of the outputs of the E45 slide off like they were bowling, I look at life like a mosquito stuck on the rearview mirror of my Clio 1.2 Metallic as the sky. And who cares if tonight I use the horn as a machete by scholars of the road, tonight I lose too much and I enjoy life reeling across the roadway, at least that.
parking downtown, I no parking on the broad shoulders. I look good from the white overalls of municipal, tonight I just want to play and put in czech fly away from the world. When I was young the world was all darkness of a hiding place and there was no need because he was trying to strut the world we thought. Even when there was nobody on the street and the street looked like a slow flowing liquid cement barges gray of the bypass, was the world and their bags of garbage that we were find. And blacks cats and moths from pasture to feast on. And when the world you are all finished with a count to ten, and at that point was I was doing the world and everything else that was always too far away to hide. Now there are more world and are not anymore, I just fear that before long I'll come to flush out and that I was impotent, inept, stupid on this bench in April.
await your appearance, the incisors rugano the fingertips, the fear that you know send me patiently. Learn about the code of my insecurity, you know how to stop the game. I
the stairs two at a time, I look at my face reflected on the plans of the department opaque. The sunset is beautiful, the rays pierce the windows and slap on the white tiles of blue polyclinic. Tonight I stopped wearing the best clothes and the mood of fresh laundry. The night I smiled, the lights brighten up the ward my feet, the women reciprocate trusting my eyes.
- See you in the center front of the arch.
- Ok. Front of the arch, tomorrow.
's so that we met, I remember now.
From that we make it with strawberries and shivering with that if they fly away. Insanity is a plane that staggers the takeoff, and living has never been more simple if you were not there.
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