***
Where the dog
ran away
after he ate
all the bones
over there
gyrates the windmill
that grinds
nothing over there
stays in
crouching posture
the shadow of
a sly Greek
on a stony shore
where grass
for the nanny goats
hardly grows.
No,
unfortunately there isn’t time
anymore we are
between a railway
station and
another one between
a plane and
another one nonetheless
the windmill
gyrates at an accelerated
pace making us
drunk with our fever.
Lord and yet
we wanted something,
we desired
something, but what
particularly? Our
hope fades away
under all the
skies and among all
the people and
among all the animals
and through
the artificial intelligence
and he dreams that
some day he’ll meet
her again he
doesn’t know where
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