Wein the month of
May my point of
view suddenly changed.
This time
I was more sure
that I would be
able to hold on,
hold onto it.
We repeatedly
left the same places
with more lung capacity,
and I stopped a number of
times to keep the path
in my mind.
It was necessary to remember
the steps that brought me
to those places,
memorising every footprint
in order to return there
in darker times.
That day
I was probably worrying too much
and this understandingbrought
about my first step.
That day - yellow rain on the bay.
That day the same rain through the veins.
The night of fires
came earlier than usualin
the dept of winter.
Gathered in the house,
the light dimwe talk in wispers,
waiting for some good news,
listenig from here.
Midnight comes,
the spirit pushes
And we push just as hard.
We run downhill - our shoulders
covered by long shadows.
But motorbikes are still
bicycles-the headlights lanterns.
The mountain is turning upside down.
That day - yellow rain on the slate.
Hot slate led the rain
through the veins.
E’ visione insostenibile il
proprio riflesso e comunque
non si vede maiAllora cechi
ammirate la vostra proiezione
artefattaDa operatori imperiali
e pessimi architetti Come protesi
di membra castrateNoi dunque distrutti
ci vedremo ancora per accendere
un cero sotto il nuovo monumento
Trattino sepolcro e per oggi la
propria ombra resta comunque
la più fedele immagine di se.
And then we met impero.