If I had enough energy I would
force myself to fall in love again. Feeling fine or even euphoric ‘cause there’s still room for a sigh in my heart.
The cosmopolitan appeal of this town has almost removed any smell of provincialism in me.
I take care of myself, walk until late, look at the sky and rip adverts off the walls
not a real crime indeed, rather a teeny infraction.
Here is what.
Scraping the city is a vexation and a healthy exercise as well
I practice en plain air and take what the town gives: a word, a face, a picture,
(yesterday, behind a piano concert flyer, I found a small part of nude).
After so many years spent studying the infinite potential of the empty,
trying to catch and link together the rambling filaments of the matter,
I’ve come upon the genuine and revolutionary power
of the gray walls
I think of you often, in your small laboratory
adjusting the width of the ocular lenses to scrutinize the delicacy of a poetic sequence
and missing, a few steps away, the grace of a slightly asymmetric smile
caught in a moment of wonder.
I show my artworks out in the open
to have them stroked, hit and messed up by the wind.
They fold into whimsical shapes, play, sing and move,
come and go
as they please.