Gli angeli caddero dal cielo
Io ne vidi uno sulla statale 66,
chiese del ketchup
aveva un pick up
ripartì con un cartone di Bud
Sulla montagna da scalare
intravidi un angelo
asserragliato al backgammon
gli offrii dell' erba
e lui mi scrisse una poesia
Alla fine mi scontrai con le ali di uno
- ehi fanculo - sbottai
e lui, con gli occhi sfatti ruttò
poi aggiunse:
- Già siamo qui per colpa tua,
almeno facci tenere il ricordo di volare-
e grattandosi il culo
scomparve nella via.
AS HIMSELF
- the Rob's
- Roma, Italy
- He was born in a lazy tuesday.Just purple flowers around his cradle.Silence and purple flowers.The ancient Fathers whisper their secrets in his ears, before he went away, stolen by the wind, blessed by the moon."You are a travelling man" they said him.The roads of his life were just placed in the other side of our world, but when he became a man he felt the emptiness of the desert,and the acrid smell of the asphalt from the streets of the unknown. So he began writing poetry, singing against the night walls, searching for his home, taking his bag. He was a travelling man. And that's just a chosen destiny tale.
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