Cicada two

 

 

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The deafening cicada noise booms
the heat that I avoid going into
the exedra, under wisteria shadows.
The life that I escape dries me

Paranoia I see into myself:
I shun any chance to not be lost.
In the air scorched powder dries up
anywhere becomes torrid in the world

 

July, 1st 2015

 

 

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That day, after almost seven hours, in my car, back to home

 

go here for the Italian verson

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