Dromit

Levi lives obsessed
with the smell of his armpits
-it's like the denim brand,
my name- says
with studied gesture.

Twice we went
to Midtown together,
he had never
drank gin before
knowing me
-I drink almost everything-
I apologize.

He seems always nervous
feigning to be innocent,
Don Giovanni that seduces
freshmen undergraduates
(like that lame ginger),
just to conquer the pleasure
of knowing to be capable
of it.

The computer's mouse inventor's
non gypsy
less busty
blonde daughter,
sits close to me.
-I am gonna visit the
Greek islands for vacation!-
She owns a house
west river shore of the city
valuated in a million,
which denotes
inner death.

 I observe and
do not talk,
it is not worth
of it.
While I drink
expensive tequila
and cheap beer.

I must be an
exception in Nature,
an absurd
piece of museum,
an odd
exotic animal.

I am a bit older,
I have lived some stuff
will not say too many,
similar to those ones.

I have already
simulate to be
Irish boxer
aground sailor
fired postman
sex addict lawyer
unknown philosopher
and myself.

The void
of
being devoid
of.


Time goes by
and I obviate it
and I forget it.