Sty

Articolo non ancora tradotto

I like forcing down my pen until
the page bleeds with
wrinkles, folds, signs
and unintelligible scratches
which mark the end of times

It's funny, not one kite
has entered my mind
My right eye itches as
I keep repeating to myself
'I've got five bags, I've got five bags,
I've got five bags...five bags

I press the Sprinter's button
to cross a shore
where shame is not allowed
I'll fly you there, my love
on my rough kite of fire

I'll fly you there, my love
where flying can't be higher