rusty vintage car
creaking in the pistons
the ball to the heart.
I write, simpering
of love joking with the title: Do not die tomorrow without
have read my poetry.
The first stanza: I smile, usually ashamed
brief
following the sound of his words
most of the way, like a prelude to the love theme
playful.
I wanted to write poetry in the verses of silence
tacit assent of absinthe.
of children as we look
plots are missing there.
Occasionally, I smile and laugh as
which ScanTo
in this hide and seek. Of supreme act of madness
who are you who I am
to deny the evidence that led to so much neglect. Still on the sheet
overflows the edge
stains bluish
spreads to dab a caress.
The shame was not your nor
my life is weighing, the utopia of escaped punishment
what you want to end it. The picture freezes
stop, fixed on the verse
interrupted
not die tomorrow, no.
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