Sogni concreti e astrazioni siderali

Infliggo
ai miei de_sideri
la forma di ossimori.

Le ipnagogiche
deste visioni / vanno sbiadendo,
l'oniromante districa
ghignando / le ife subdole:
E io, vittima succuba,
esausta soccombo.

Pensieri spaiati nella nostra tarda notte, (ovvero: la relatività dell'altrui sofferenza)

Il flacone d'empatia
s'è rovesciato a terra.
Ventuno grammi d'inchiostro
Ventuno lettere
ventuno proiettili.

L'anima tace, sorda.

My scary self

Out of view / my eyes cannot see
that far. That deep. That true /
the storyline turns blue.

The storyteller's stunned, how amazing
unpredictable!
The landscape run out of colors,
and I just sit and glaze a candy sky. Yelling,
is my mother at me now,
what did you do to your life, how
you happened to find yourself
trapped in the light?

I can't help, just replies
the opposide side of my self,
it's like being bounded in a web,
tied to the bouncing sounds. Shall I
handle what remains?
Or just rest
on the wasted relics of what
that used to be my future?

туман

I need to find a shape for my foggy purposes. They cast their shadow on the screen, hit by hidden sunbeams and pierced by the dreams.

Lost in the sounds of the words. I suggest your keeping with you your compass - but where is your north? Guess I've lost mine as well.

The persisting ring of the phone brings me back to my reality, where the milky mist has got into my room.

I've red the story of a guy who cried when a friend of his drunk his pear juice, and I felt the tears come, too.