8th Book
"The Denial of Romanticism"
Date: 2017
Poems: 18
Copies: 4
Collection: Fresh Start & Future
Publishing company: Private edition - "home-made"
ANOTHER TRIP, ANOTHER CARRIAGE
Night.
10 degrees.
I resign after resignation.
There is no longer any greater resignation.
I don't know how many hundreds of trips.
Nights, days, afternoons, dawns,
Out of hours, on hour H.
Train, bus, ride,
Car, van, car, big car.
…. Forget it.
This f... trip, only lack of plane.
One more carriage
Another regional.
3 people with me.
This time they aren't even old.
3 girls well in their world.
They're pretty and I'm writing, nothing changes.
I'm alone, in a carriage for 30 or 40.
I don't know to who I write.
I don't know why I write.
I write what boils.
WHO CARES?!
i revolt with conformism
I squirm with my eyes closed.
Teeth glued together, mouth closed.
I scream so loud and I know no one hears.
I do it inside
Because it's no use making noise.
It would be noise, it would be uncomfortable.
The no word has to come up in these verses.
More than once, more…
It is an ally of pessimism.
It's the word that makes sense,
Like all the others.
well, it's a rant.
Writing is taking off the cover,
Forget the shield,
Fence off.
But I resent this indifference
May my anguish not touch anyone.
In the movie, "The Fugitive"
Tommy Lee Jones also told Harrison Ford...
“ - You have problems…
Who cares…?”
This echoes me every day, in every step I take.
I WILL ALWAYS BE A CHILD
It's gone…
She had already returned
Twice.
It was again. She had to go.
Straighten what was born crooked,
It's difficult.
It was, this time, it's for good.
Society no longer has standards.
We broke up with them a few years ago.
I was also an accomplice.
Little, a little bit, but I confess.
I went,
She's gone,
It's gone,
We were.
It doesn't matter to demultiply the verb.
It's over and I don't feel like I've learned.
In the meanders of every passion
I will always be a child...