Motto: "There's a little girl's voice that sings lullabies in my guest room closet but don't mind her; she died years ago. Here's your blanket"
the night squeezes moon juice into my dreams
and I lemon my way through thick syrupy words
going round and round above, in my head
like a dotto train
ding ding ding!!
(Luna-land here, everyone off!!)
fantasies of the weak
begging like potato chips in a bag to be crunched
at least once
in a commercial with a second hand banner and no pride
il cielo scorre nel fiume col nome gridato
dai tristi uccelli,
sulla faccia non cresce più nessun’ombra,
anche se scrivo con la mano destra girando verso il tempo
il cuore batte ancora a sinistra
ieri non sono stata morta
“ti ringrazio”
per cosa?
aspetta, non mi ricordo
non vedo i miei occhi e piango con le ali
le spalle si sono ghiacciate intatte
comunque siamo uccelli diversi
quando andrò via ti lascerò il mio posto
sul tetto
ascolta come dorme la vita
My room is full of ghosts
I checked with the administration
And they said it’s safe
(they always say that)
Nobody is here
But they don’t see what I see
They don’t see all my dead friends
Playing whist at the table near the window
And never winning
Nor do they see dad painstakingly tuning the radio to find
That sad political debate every night
Or the old lady (her name keeps eluding me)
Knitting quietly near the grey tv set
And definitely they don’t see her
Smiling so strange
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