am I being patient
I dreamed
I was a bird
that couldn’t fly
children seem always about to cry
In Manarola
in that turquoise sea
I floated weightless
and forgot to breath
now I can see more
than what is there
I’m comfortable nowhere
not even asleep
All life is alive and here and continues sun plucks fire from the deepest cold soul sleepy with indecision everywhere is talk in a tower of broken languages the everyday filth of humanity blown by the breeze and the seeds of every plant dying to live there are only beginnings music shifts the afternoon from the din of trams and bicycle bells and the peasant German transparent English still conspires conquest like a wounded admiral anethsatized with a loyalty few could feign anonymity plagues the ego as if anything humans could create is important leaves are born from branches shade is shadows we’ve obstructed the light to balance our potentials and failures so easily embarrassed and given way to police uniforms power confused by morality’s denotation it’s better to sleep than to wander for poetry drowned in dreams there is only laughing and crying true nature buried in the constant flux of thought too near the surface of the skull it escapes through the eyes and mouths what promise could perpetuate this species which for the first time discovers the ignorance it lives children who frighten their parents into guilt of them being born
