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end of julyfeeling like i have to choose
between waking life and dreams
weightless in the water
weightless in dreams
weightless on the moon
so i choose to be floating in the lakes and
screams fall from me without
sound in the form of liquid
saliva and blood
sometimes i can't believe that i am only one
sit and hear me
so many me's
so many thoughts
so many things make up blood
so many things make up
so many things we consume
i thought i was only from one place
but then there's so many me's
and so many ancestors
and so many futures
wrapped up in me.
when I was in the waterwhen I was in the water I saw it in the sky
- darker -
grey streaks, peaks, and hollows
just above the trees.
when I was in the lake
- floating -
i saw the sky move
each particle- and the sky moves fast
Spilt out of sleep
Into the sky
Like my brain has finally
Control of waking life -
It's about the sound
The feeling without hearing
About reality dripping down
Like a dream- through heavy
Breathing patterns slow and shaky
In all ways violent- and floating
Surrounded by water from the lake
Parallel with the rushing surface there
And the brightest light
From the sun all above
Over expose me and my eyes, so staring
Ancient object - outlived by light
I'll let you burn me and blind me-
And I'll spill my insides out- ancient interior
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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