Our Man in Europe, dave Delacroix.....ZONE....Apres un Poet Francais, G. Apollinaire.
*dedicato Carol Aniello.
...Into the Unsound, a breeze, girls dresses flutter, Pigeons scatter in collective cowardice, a lone Vespa scooter winnows, till silenced. A Mama-s stark call! KIDS! Pick up the Laundry! Grit flies. Kleenex eyes, a homeless fly settles on my bichieri Vino Blanco. A SITU, not unlike the Nativity....whilst BURSTING thru, the last Sunday timetable auto bus, disgorging chatter, shopping carts and mopping brows.
Into the Unsound, the evening Sweat, Il Passegiare thronging antica, cobblestone streets....OH, just where lies Sweet Robin, the passion of Youth, that IN silence, now promenades under a sliced lemon moon...
U got a Nickel.
I got a Nickel.
U got a Dime.
I got a Dime.
U got TIME!
No. I gotta Rental.
Into the Unsound, wondering, as they say, Tomorrow never comes. U can make a Bet! And as true as Troilius OR as false as Cressida, an unexpected breeze!...Say! Fellow traveller, just what links our Unsound zone...to lead us weary, bleary eyed into the dark beyond...
c2018,davedelacroix,cafe porta Palermo,sciacca,sicily.
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