Aspidistra Flying

“Sometimes I think we’re all corpses.

Just rotting upright.”

- George Orwell, Keep the Aspidistra Flying

Through the silence of broken things,

a quiet listener…,

his thumping heartbeats,

the flow of bright red blood,

a vein pulsating like a magistral

in the middle of a big city,

there we sat like Buddha,

rusty souls titillating 

with excitement,

Who comes with 

this kind of disdain?…,

filled and filed,

overboard and simple-minded,

a rake with too small an amount of leaves,

too much noise, too much noise,

he was a flower ready to grow,

a drunkard of ease,

through and through,

many a moons they wrestled 

beneath the orthodox lamp,

a violent rush of blood to the head,

other body parts and regions too,

if to be precise…,

they called it love,

or some other earthly beast,

without face or any kind of passport,

a stranger in a strange land,

an empty orchestra,

a pointless poem,

lifeless eyes floating against the window,

searching for a way out…,

I would guess,

but no, oh no, no, no,

they were aliens of plant life,

monsters of infinity,

eternal recorrection (recurrence) of some sorts,

an evil machination,

comes from Niccolo Machiavelli,

I bet you,

How much?…,

then a soldiers kiss landed,

a seldom wanted sound of foom,

mastery in cheese-making,

and of the return home,

relational diagrams show,

fight or flight is a sudden death

of all those adventurers,

souls adamant for recalibration,

through external values

or internal spiritual practices,

darkest of nights,

a walk in a forest filled with witches,

Sorrow found me when I was young,

and to Hell with you,

creepy lover-boys,

soft and steady wrinkles 

turned to gold,

in a cold winter afternoon,

or was it morning,

when you touched me,

pancakes and coffee,

other tasty treats,

and now my infinite Space,

the valleys and streams,

fountains of pure water,

a solemn fisherman on Lake Como,

regulated through years and…,

other curious tastes,

we follow no form,

no needle in a haystack,

or only the bodies of goddesses,

their beauty is unrecognizable,

Antiquity Mild…,

that’s how I’d name them,

on this beautiful day.