Nina and the distance

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Abstract

baking bread or to fly towards noisy hammering on the fierce metal to be reflected in the wither worker pupil in his yellow still helmet to perch tremulously on the crematoria’s ashes then word takes flight again to who knows where to libation at some moment fateful moment we all have to eat or accompany bar fellows or go the party meetings I have never been able to socialize well at all if you’re a complete stranger you get a certain appreciation to that ghostly state to that false lament so vivid alive indeed friendless in a room full of words cut off by cigarettes and afternoons glowing in the green of bottles that glass that bone abandoned in the dishes distant isolated you acquire the habit of simply being certainly far away from those places you could get to and contemplation of probabilities which abysses and exhausts us it holds and amazes us and if you are already known and crowds come to rub elbows with you somehow also much rubbi

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ng erases you, it prevents your escape and you yearn those childhood runs the silence in front a wild sea maybe the freedom is another myth and who knows if what you say matters really the words of a mask disturbed by loneliness disturbed by the company of chants and liquors suffocated like a fish dying before vitriolic acceptance glances alas, I always recognize the distance between right now and what took place between the instant and my gaze always ahead lost in another life that I don’t live between embers of slogans and the real unreachable fire perhaps passion will save me in a certain way, it recovers us all what I said was truly precious to me the word escaped at the moment of expressing it but the passion was a dagger fixed in my rib it was a deep wound and mine and no one’s although you understood bits and pieces of my howl and of course, you honestly believed you were in front of a worthy being applauded character.</p></article></body>

POETRY

it would be possible to resist only with conjunctions with circumlocutions of the elusive sentence and how could that be called life to truly travel such a distance between me and my words is exhausting it is I think what could be called to live even if seems a decent simulation a trinket which thriller certainly despite the ephemeral effort something close to a dream a shortening of the stretch between reality and my slender fingers not even the words I consent could escape control perhaps the sign of freedom is to leave behind everything to become a smoke butterfly among the oven’s warm glares baking bread or to fly towards noisy hammering on the fierce metal to be reflected in the wither worker pupil in his yellow still helmet to perch tremulously on the crematoria’s ashes then word takes flight again to who knows where to libation at some moment fateful moment we all have to eat or accompany bar fellows or go the party meetings I have never been able to socialize well at all if you’re a complete stranger you get a certain appreciation to that ghostly state to that false lament so vivid alive indeed friendless in a room full of words cut off by cigarettes and afternoons glowing in the green of bottles that glass that bone abandoned in the dishes distant isolated you acquire the habit of simply being certainly far away from those places you could get to and contemplation of probabilities which abysses and exhausts us it holds and amazes us and if you are already known and crowds come to rub elbows with you somehow also much rubbing erases you, it prevents your escape and you yearn those childhood runs the silence in front a wild sea maybe the freedom is another myth and who knows if what you say matters really the words of a mask disturbed by loneliness disturbed by the company of chants and liquors suffocated like a fish dying before vitriolic acceptance glances alas, I always recognize the distance between right now and what took place between the instant and my gaze always ahead lost in another life that I don’t live between embers of slogans and the real unreachable fire perhaps passion will save me in a certain way, it recovers us all what I said was truly precious to me the word escaped at the moment of expressing it but the passion was a dagger fixed in my rib it was a deep wound and mine and no one’s although you understood bits and pieces of my howl and of course, you honestly believed you were in front of a worthy being applauded character.