Epistolare for a flying fish
between frogs and trucks, i lay my rest
but i am now 54
i write our lives
undone.
there is no folklore, only dolore
each step closer to god and further from yourself
don’t you remember the times you thought you could fly
and ended up in a cell just farther from mine?
a broken head for a broken mind
we take our chances to take destiny
by the re- by our veins, by the
string left by those who had us
committed and forgotten,
i have now
many roses…
there is no folklore, only dolore
for the friend whose memory is failed and frail
and a lover who took shape of a flying fish
there are roses and no folklore, there is no
snow since i moved back home
per una vita migliore
i lay with the frogs, brown snakes
and lilac bent roses, i can’t fly
i’ll wait to die.
red and white roses
sunflowers unborn
once again left alone
as the amphibians sing
and two suns rise.
i can’t fly
i’ll wait to die
as the amphibians sing
and two suns rise.
