LUNAR POETRY OF THE SUPER POCKET HAVE NO SOUL
write,
on the back of the shopping lists that fall
of people's pockets.
floor pedal.
dance tape and roars.
Avantti.
Hello,
quick smile,
milk, bath gel
...
what you play,
pi-pi-pi-pi ....
and repeat the same motion-sometimes
-
weighs up total: 17 euros
with 77 cents.
The change, thanks.
fleeting smile.
Hello Again.
write,
tickets drawn on the doors of the super
.
box
smokes.
Customers crowd ant mode,
snort,
worldwide
hurry when the other side.
speak to the microphone. Voice
brittle. Volume
. Miss Mari Loli
go to box 5 (bis)
write,
between offers catalogs
forgotten in counters of the fund. Tamer
cars,
ferocious beasts,
appalling if they are full. Replace
detergents
ordered shelves,
everything is accustomed to doing Sudoku
the expiration of yoghurt,
made to kidnap the Muses
2x1
voucher and coolness.
write,
the white plastic bags, as if the letters
reach your hands and my words remain in your pupil
my temples as bar codes. I
numbers, counting pennies
,
give superior. Chop
ticket.
Who knows if tonight on 27
will route to your door and leave a verse
in my portfolio.
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