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Adriano Sapelli

of

Exmouth, England, UK

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asapelli@plymouth.ac.uk (Adriano Sapelli)


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Untitled

by

Adriano Sapelli

Part 1

B for a beginning and at the end you may
start. But don't jump too high because the
ceilings are being built in the past and our
teeth are clenched 'round the future, gripping
onto melting measurements. Old methods for new
days and if I inhale: what can I expect.

Part 2

I aint no stranger baby,
and you won't find me in the whistling wind.

I don't wanchoor lovin' baby,
and I don't know what makes me say these things.

I got no money baby,
and if you call me I won't call back.

Part 3

So I can't really deal with my own
problems. Instead I leave a pathetic trail
of words - from your doorstep to my mind,
running along the lines of this page.
From my doorstep to your eyes.
I wish. And. Then.

I call myself a man, when I know
I was a boy a while ago. It doesn't
make much difference I suppose.
Whether or not I relieve an overstretched
head by pissing through a pen.


Response

by

Adriano Sapelli

Is there an element of chance
heating up this glance
or is it just panic? Quickly passed on the elevator anyhow...

Am I in control
or do I not want to know/think about it. Some regret here for the person I could have been. Could in Italics.

Monsters in romance, the infants, Lee Wakeman - imagination, drawings, more sketches no studies and how, how did we get here, to Baker Street, neath Iron girders and thousand of rivets, tonnes of cables and an automat defibrillator. ?spelling

Was there ever a me I wanted to be, the stage beckons, the art fades into regulations and repayments, the night and day of it all.Oh love. a cuppa