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.