A dream a day

I’m a little more alone

without my dreams

and this display

without graffitoes

doesn’t reflect

my sadness.

I must invent again

a dream-play

and dip in it

to believe

to be able to fill with words

the Cahos that doesn’t need them,

the heart playing,


only with time.

But I’m only able to make a fairy tale

and look at it

growing teeny

raised on the yards

flyed over by the seagulls

transparent of adventures,

entangled in my thoughts

fallen in love with life.