My spit on the wall…
Little drops of saliva coming down the uneven concrete.
Fighting and wetting the yellow roads of death.
My women are same…
Always fighting my burned physicality,
always slamming peanut butter on flat breads…
Always pissing like magnificent cats.
I am drunk at 10 am…and people; wasting the opportunity to be nothing at 10 am.
Wet floors in summer noons, the rapidness of boneless eyes,
red balloons over disoriented automobiles…
My city, my urn of colloquial cosmos.
I remember the man I first fought with,
I was free…I was above my insecurities…
Just bloody noses and open fists to ignore through woods.
Stars in my glass now,
I will go drunk in the evening and through a uncharacteristic sunset I will loose those stars in an euphoric night.
People find happiness in their oblivious continuity…
I am no difference.
A thick glassed bottle, some cigarettes from last night women,
a lunacy to bleed…
All…oblivion.

Photograph: Alessandro Sarno.

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