But still are


there – with all pressure - the infance - the grief,

the struggle the mantle of candy - we use to cover up the mist - understood

The loneliness the fear – to lay –

a legitimate by-merely-being-Human-intimacy – we seek

and strive to found – an' then

blowing up the upcoming tie

by encircling ourselv’s with protecting conspiracies.


The rage the plunge the sweat

the need the cheat the laugh

The mud the flash the coil,

the nasty coil of blasty days / when we’ smile with democracy / an’ proficiency

upfront the glass’d ice-clay

of mirror, where we see

reflecting, as shadowly oppressing

the early 30’s face wrinkles.

: first bills are paid.




The ‘byss between the bias

and world we ever dream

is still a two-dreams gap bias – I will call an’ aetheric’ statistician to let me explain this concept,

like a Zanarkand enchantor does

dreaming his own salvage in the deep of a noo’sphere blitzball sheer tropician water.


No matter the desperation of Tidus

nor if Jecht is calling him to self-destroy the sin

to be wrapp’d around the burden o' a no-ending living’ circle

nor grief – hate or speech – or injustice count this point

even to cut down old roofs to sprout new life’s roots

or break down the deep'st wit circle

still is a dream.