lo straniero
e' la,
mangia,
si,
dorme,
si...

a
presto
natale
nostro

the young man in the mall,
crushed by the weight of being different,
wanted to kill them all

getting home,
fire's out
going for fuel,
it rains
10,000 years ago,
yesterday

non deve essere grande,
cara,
solo fatto da te,
una frase,
boh.

dunque,
dimmi qualcosa
e noi ci spendiamo,
il tempo nostro
insieme

it's a flickering pain
neurologic,
it whispers it's threat softly
but means it

he made a sandwich,
or some simple plate,
and t'was good...

is not a bad epitaph

three hundred three:
seems many days,
unless what's measured is a life...
then it's nothing

like children's trading cards,
only marxists instead of players

though they say Che' could

today was a day to dream of vomit
to let it all out, once and for all
fear

again,
losing touch,
sight,
balance,
nerve,
how long's it been...

death,
hinting
taunting
waiting

io parlo,
mangio,
la lingua
e la mostarda
era un altro tema strano

we spoke,
ate tongue,
and spice-candied fruit with mustard oil
was another queer topic

tack along
wandering city
feeling your way
to the something you sense you'll be

a place
a name
instruments

for remembering
for forgetting
or for...
or for...

a measuring tape
with self written on it
wants you to feel
confident,
metric

honey
orange
butter
milk
flour
coffee...

black

man

comes to mind,
murder news
latitudes

red
wine
milk
chocolate
oil
luxury
suffering
revolution
blood toilet