leaning against a column of books never read philosophy gulps down his orange juice. The drink every morning because he likes the color and the idea that some 'of vitamin C is not dead. After all, for years, thanks to all those orange juice in the juicer, the only object remained to the list of wedding presents, which does not remember the date, those who shared it, is regularly hit by flu-like illness with peak temperatures high and annoying obstruction of the airways. With tissue paper stuck to the runny nose looks out. Beyond the glass, where transparency is clouded by a couple of tracks of gull droppings, you can see the sea. Quiet, still and flat. An infinite silence disturbed by the shouting of the mothers who bring children to school, knocked down by huge SUVs with the parachute. Then the engines roar, tires scoured, the horn salute, the square is empty. The sea no. Always there, looking full of salt water, beyond the yellow shit of the seagulls. Spare a thought for all fish in every ocean, especially the bass of Orbetello he likes so much. Imagine them swimming or maybe sad, happy, bored by so much moisture. A life suspended between water and fire, from the current pans. Think of the Man and the Sea, Hemingway. Hunting and bottles of Gin.
Do you still believe in God the Almighty but he knows he no longer believes in him. Does not care who thinks what he wants, so what changes?
Here are popping up so the sun. You are right. Exit, Turn it up. For some time it is too cold, now we need your warm rays. Warmer the bones before they get old. Now I have a thousand wrinkles on the skin and a hundred wounded in the heart. I do not believe in dreams, if anything, in transplantation. I dream often. And you?
0 comments:
Post a Comment