Log 11

You only see men on this boat.

Blue, then white lines picturing both sides

Salt and time turned white into grey,

A trace, a dusty kind.

Twice a week it leaves Ancona

Facing the sea, 

A kind one.

I’ve been here before, as a child

People, a childood smell

Shades, details of a memory.

Only I kept pictures

Giacomo skating in the garden

Elena’s beauty, too old for the child I was

Francesco, in healthy and quiet days

I’m wondering about the fear, now

The way it changed his eyes.

Is there something worse, in life ?

For a poet to loose his weapon

The most powerful one

Control on words, 

On the trembling arm.

You only see men on this boat,

Dark and tired faces,

Hard work changed their body

As well as drinking does.

Violent is the speaking.

They, playing cards and laughing

I know, they wonder about me, a boy

A child man, alone

Lily and Bujar woke up late in the morning,

Road has been long and hard

I hope my company not

She’s kind and beautiful

He’s full of light, a dark kind of

Behind the balcan details of his face

I’ll go for a smoke, so I can

See you lying on my bed, only my shirt

To cover the skin and leave you reading

Joni Mitchell’s diaries.

I see something of myself in everyone

Sometimes I think
Living could be easier

If I could just see less of you all.