Kidney Stones & Diarhoea

Freedom

On
On my schoolboy notebooks benches and trees in the snow on the sand



write your name on all pages read
on all white pages
Stone blood paper
ash I write your name on the images


golden arms of the warriors On the crown of kings



write your name On the jungle and the desert broom

nests on Eco Child
Write your name on all my

glimpses of blue
Pond sun undone
Lakeside living
moon I write your name

Sui fields on the horizon
On the wings of birds
The mill of shadows
write your On behalf


every breath of dawn over the sea on boats on the mountain
demented


write your name on the foam of the clouds On
The heavy rain of Hurricane
sweats and pale
write your name on the forms


On the bright colors of the bells on the physical truth

write your name

awakened
The trails on the plazas on the open road
rampant
I write your name

The light that kindled
The light goes off
On my holiday collections


write your name on the fruit split in two
mirror and my room on my bed empty shell

I write

your name on my dog \u200b\u200b
delicious and tender upon his ears on his leg straight
clumsy


write your name on the trampoline On the door of my family objects

wake of the holy fire
write your name on each


meat allowed on the front of my friends
On every hand that you write your name tends


the windows of surprises
intent On the lips
Above the silence
write your name on all my broken


shelter collapsed on my every
lighthouse on the walls of my boredom I write your name


Absence without craving
On naked solitude On the paths of death

write your name on the force returned


The risk vanished
Sull'immemore
hope I write your name

And by virtue of a word
Groundhog
my life I was born to meet you call

For Freedom.

Paul Eluard

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The friend who sleeps

What shall we say to his friend who is sleeping tonight? The word
softer We drive up to his lips
the direst punishment. Looked at his friend,
his lips do not say anything unnecessary,
Speak softly. The night will

the face of the old pain that resurfaces every night
impassive and alive. The remote silence
suffer as a soul, silent in the darkness.
We'll talk about the night that Fiat subdued.
will hear the moments in the dark ooze
beyond things anxiety dawn
that will affect all of a sudden things
against the dead silence. Unnecessary light
reveal the absorbed faces of the day. The
moments were silent. And things will speak quietly.

Cesare Pavese

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The poet tells the truth in love

I want to cry over my pain

and I'll tell you why I cry

and love me in a sunset nightingales

with a dagger and a kiss with you.

I want to kill the only witness

this murder of my flowers

and change the anguish of my weeping

in durum wheat in a sheaf forever.

That skein never unravels

of love you love me, all glowing yes!

with decrepit old sun and moon.

What I do not do not you ask me,

no, ma non Muoi and Di Lascia Traccia

sussulto della nell'estremo meat.

***

I mourn my sentence and I say

to ú t want me and I cry

a evening of nightingales,

with a dagger, with kisses and you.

I want to kill the only witness

for the murder of my flowers

and turn my tears and my sweat

in eternal lot of hard wheat.

That never ends Hank

Quie te I want, semper blazed

with decrepit sun and old age.

That what we do not give me and do not ask

be for death, which leaves no

or shade in the quivering flesh.

Federico Garcia Lorca

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Small

are both convinced that
a sudden feeling united them.
E 'such a beautiful
certainty but uncertainty is more beautiful.

did not know before,
believe that nothing ever happened between them.
But they think the streets, stairways and corridors where
long could interbreed?


I would ask them if they do not remember -
once face to face
perhaps in a revolving door?
an "excuse me" in the crowd?
a "wrong number" in the handset?
- but I know the answer.
No, I do not remember. Li
very surprised to know that for quite some

the event was playing with them.


not yet ready for them to mutate into destiny,
them approached them away, cut his way

and stifling a giggle
is scanned with a jump.

There were signs, signals,
what if indecipherable.
Maybe three years ago or on Tuesday

a leaf flew
from shoulder to shoulder?
Something was lost and picked up something.
Who knows, maybe the ball was in the bushes
childhood?

There were handles, bells

a touch ahead of time where it rested on a touch. Cases
approached in the luggage room.
One night, perhaps, the same dream, confused
immediately upon awakening.

fact
Every beginning is only a result

and the book of events is always open halfway. Wislawa Szymborska

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This
that shimmers in the night cap of my thinking, track
pearly snail
emery or glass trampled,
light of the church is not that food od'officina

cleric red, or black. Only
quest'iride
I leave you
testimony of a faith that was fought,
of hope that burned slower
a hard strain on the hearth. Please keep the powder

in the mirror when switched off every light
the sardana
and hell will come upon a shady Lucifer
a bow of the Thames, the Hudson, the Seine
shaking the wings of bitumen
bitten off by semi-hard, to tell you: it is the 'now.
is not an inheritance, a lucky
that can withstand impact of monsoon on the edge of the spider
memory
but a story that does not last in the ash
and persistence is the only species. Just
was a sign: Who identified
can not fail to find you.
Everyone recognizes her: pride
was not escape, humility was not
vile, the soft glow rubbed
there was not a match.

Eugenio Montale