I am talking to you endlessly about endless stories
I am telling you the imminent future in segments that may star you – You listen to me
and only after a while I realize that I have a radio voice,
that you are listening to me as you would to the radio..
A vibrant morning slides up like a backup Sun
in bus number 451, I am reading the future in the streaks left on the unwiped windshield
as witches read it in coffee drags
The semi-magic state spoils a real life story: on the asphalt lies a discarded rose,
Numberless cars are running it over and as long as I have time to count
Every wheel crushes my palm… my forehead… my breast..
Around me, every 451 traveler
Is eyes glued to his cellular phone, headphones on..
Nobody, nobody, nobody
Saw the murdered rose…
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