Poetry

The solitude of poetry, the solitude of the years. The poetry of solitude, the years of solitude. The weight of the years like a self-denial of threads in crucifixion. The sea without owner. The vacuum of poetry, the vacuum of life. The poetry of vacuum, the life of vacuum. The weight of your dead like…

Nothing is…

Nothing is obvious, everything changes. Nothing is notorious, you find many angels who reach for the glorious, rescuing many strangers. Nothing is ever quite what it seems, maybe you’ll never wake up from dreams. You must be clever, don’t take extremes.   By Luca Arnaldo Read more texts by this author

Drive, guy, drive

The car is out there. The peace, nowhere. That house stinks. It’s like a hell. The people there, they all yell. Go away, guy, go away. There is nothing left to say. Drive, guy, drive. Look for your wished hive. By Luca Arnaldo Read more texts by this author