by Ece Apaydin
Objects are born for a moment. we pass by from the roads which those moments combined with the extension
close to autumn, tough and acquired immunity - chip of the words
my darling the angle with the waterfall of your face for a moment
the time also can not hold this glare in its hand.
I do not mind to pass by in this way such a slimsy
outside there is a rain - wilful - is it the wind ?
between the lines of the streets. the blue thin thread
falling from your collar. Let it hang me to the most lyrical corner of the town
Let the books swing that kicks the chair through the night
I will not die no. I will go to my way. with the piano keys
with the dusty looks by that are mellow in the music home.
Objects are born for a moment. we touch and choose
the cicadas is the first sonorous one in the midst of the leaves
we want it to start, that perfect music of life
as if it is not in the piano your hands on my knee.
opens to the infinite universe of the wetness and the heat.
we perceive that the objects do not feel themselves in the exile. this herb
It is a remaining from a meadow in our mouths.
Last updated June 12, 2016