weeks run towards their end
like they knew where they’re going

(i’m stuck with socks to mend.)

the heat is not an option
i can’t let it prevail
i’m melting on the pavement
my hair a burning veil
who sets my thoughts on fire
confuses what i know
until my mind gets cleared
by dreams of silent snow.

your pointy pink-black fingers
in search of snagging threads
will cause no hurtful blisters
they only drive me mad

someone should have taken
a photograph of me
with cats asleep on either side
wrapped in a furry dream.

[nel titolo del post prima c’era un refuso: folastrocche.]

I thought I’d found a way
of keeping it at bay
but ’twas the warmth of summer
that made it go away.

boxes and spools all over your pockets
waiting for words to use them as lockets
singing the music you love to have near
looking for frames to keep your mind clear:

let them remind you your eyes have to rest
your fingers should sleep, drop every nonsense
the dreams you record on reels and by heart
can bring you the wings you’d want for a start