
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
How Can I Fix My Sonicare Battery

Sunday, January 9, 2011
Panniculectomy Ohip Coverage After Pregnancy
Forse hai paura perchè non si vede la fine
o magari come è già capitato a molti
un paio di giri e poi scaraventati via, lontano
perchè io sono un uragano
prendo tutto quello che trovo e scuoto
lascio solo il segno.
La fine coincide con l'inizio, un cerchio.
Non c'è tempesta a cui non ho sorriso prima.
Ma in quell' angolo che vedeva le
your shoulders at that vanishing point focused
sweat of the climb to the finish line in the load following
vital to the movement of thoughts
choices in risk, fear
in the mist of the junction and in the warm light of the rest in
first line and just below the surface in
'energy that revolves around you
I was there and no' other. Stay close
and traces the path along
why not do it again, step
once
and fast and if I stay in a moment we will wake
,
emerge from the tunnel at breakneck speed
and there will still air, still a 'once more.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Quotesfor A Sick Family Member

are the bottom of a bottle recess
now over the last few drops that remain stuck to the glass eagerly
cup of coffee granules, which color the side brought the cup to his mouth.
The drop in more than ink on the paper trail that leaves the
you stain your fingers.
have the elegance of smoking
the constancy of rust
the smell of old wine cellars
sound paper of a forgotten book
evoked the memory of a scent is no longer daily
the box that keeps a photo intended superfluous
dust.
are the pennies that end up in the jar,
are the key to a port that has changed the lock on the card in the drawer are
the presale that bends
dust on the shelf to sleep at the upper floors of the library. I'm not finished a painting
a story unfinished
a poem ended by mid
grains of stone sculpture of a still trapped.
are the splinter of wood under the pale skin
not worthy of becoming a lesson
the cut on the finger you use more
the skins stretched around the nail.
'm your bad day.
I smile ripped from a story that starts with an you remember when the black screen
before the end credits
the last waltz
the few inches that separate the kiss of the hand.
are the subtle refinement of taste
the precarious balance of elegance
the perfect framing of many shots, but not impressed
the energy of the right phrase from inspiration
exonerated the swollen river of words into poetry.
are stealing too much greed of room for compromise,
the arrogance of all paying the bill nothing
the hot smoke of the last shots that you burn your lips.
have the courage of an idea
stagnant water
thoughts of anger and brood then tamed
impetus to the sterility of the rancor that is fertility as it unfolds at
the mirage of a shelter built around the insatiable ambitions of flattery
the comfort of art that art is the purpose
game loss to understand the beauty in the table.
I am the dark side and a concealed enemy force
my best mentor and
the most intimate and hidden rope
the vice that he shakes the soul.
I presume to be alone.
have the illusion that they are ready
the excuse of being different I am and I would not be different.
And fortunately they are not.