I scream

at the sunset

my name

to shudder

at the rumble

of my voice.

I laugh

at my life game

walking

on my ashes.

Made up with clouds

the sky

throws open a water coloured sun

on the horizon

and an ode of joy

pour from heart.

The day again starts

hoping to live

on the blaze of coloured buds

and I

look at my eyeshadow palette

to fix Nature

on the time’s breaths.

Cold ocean

of famous beaches

flied over

by analytical seagulls:

I listen

the wind hiss

around my hair

letting

my soul

go out of me

to reach

its horizon

crowded

of solitaries.

And then all is ended.

Silence lowers from the terraces,

granny listens no more screams

and is left alone,

in the middle of the empty green,

and of memories;

glory escapes from eyes,

enthusiasm is hauled down with the flags,

crumpled papers burn in the fireplace,

make champions and victories useless.

You continue to be

and still try to live

and love the fresh air

that frees fantasies

and you breath the time

that, unpretentions, makes you a champion.

Little pearls

threaded

in the mad cobweb

of the unexpressed things.

Alone,

she looks to the bars

commiserating the absents.

If I had to choose

to be a toy

I would be

a doll.

The one I never saw

in the faces of mine.

I’ll come in the fog

to darken your eyes

injuring your pride

crumpling up your passions;

I’ll come

to steal your heart

and shut it

in my mind cruel of love;

I’ll come in the sun

to tighten a smile

opening a neverending view

on your soul;

I’ll come in the time

I look over

down and up

a wake of floors.

Windows

perched

at an angle

on a dark river,

tormented by envy

for not being

opened in the sky.

A cappuccino

strip foam

ruffles a cloud

unable to lick it.

Will you warm up

also my icy depth

of my unconscious plans?

Bronzing with hues

the slow walk

of my deep meditations?

We are alone,

you and me, sun,

with nothing between us

than my castles in the air.

I’m not able

to invent

complicated lines.

The Ego graft

on the pen

has an handicap

stronger than will.

Maybe I pretend

to resemble myself;

maybe simplicity

is an old family friend.