KING'S SNOW GARDEN / SILVER SURFER'S SHROUD

Now the clouds are leaving from square’s skies.

Some of them don’t move away completely from the wall,

dandled by wind’s artificial breath,

but they are the smallest ones, the less provoking maids.

The slime doesn’t allow to recall.

Conscience doesn’t care of ideological faiths any more.

The laptop now tired, is looking at the scene

feeling sorry for the things around.

No one managed to smile

no one tried just when he could.

Everytime none of ‘em

Eyes wrapped in the plastics of a lake once blue.

Everywhere

there’s a funeral land.

Everywhere I may go

people lose identity in a dream.

Life is getting lost in the sharp noise

of a car that has great trouble to start up.

Body sheets are dancing in the cold

shaking up long hands’ exhausted nerves.

This slime doesn’t allow to recall

Witnesses now fadin’ in an absurd roary jam.

Now noises don’t scare me,

I nearly don’t hear them at all.

Some footsteps from the court-yard.

Are such steps there for me?

It’s just a little murder...

Sometimes children have fun

Laughing and contemning.

Rain stops falling,

can I go now?

It’s only a brand new death

that won’t come late.

It’s just a little crime.