i really don't think that i care
about what i care for
you make me doubt and dream
of a certain edge of the world
in every step i take
over the cliff
deep wounds are like broken bells
same sound but different
voices and wolves everywhere
you made me hate symbols
now i hate everything
that doesn't cry
i stay with you in me sometimes
until nothing happens
E' inutile scrivere se non si sente il rumore del vento.
(ogni lettera è un suono, ogni parola è un tono musicale che vibra)
Le parole si possono perdere col tempo,
sotto le foglie secche...
dimenticate.
---
Non si può pitturare senza la luce.
I colori devono essere vivi, intensi
(ogni colore è una goccia di vita che illumina...)
I swear with my hand on the heart
[mine, another’s]
that I know nothing
that I get on the train on my way home
and come off at some Glasgow terminal
that I write on my shopping list b r e a d
and rush through my front door with stolen roses
nowhere is written for how long, until when
but I hear your words climbing my body
like spiders the wonderwall
like ivy the cross
[mine, another’s]
I know nothing
and no book will be able to tell
how a hand is covering your mouth
what is this tip toe dance I’m doing
around a purple room
without me moving a limb?
this pursing of lips and
imaginary fingers catching their kiss
at the other end
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