Three tiny suspension points
Keep me hanging from a finger
From my desk.
The text was succint
and the short sentence closed
By a point
But i cannot find the real meaning
That those carefully chosen words
Just let it happen and distance yourself
By flying to the coming singer
And exploring for the perfect Christmas present
Whole they all waste words.
Nod and consider
W what is really important to you
And take notes
To plan your short but dense free time
And your next knitting project.
On a foot I cruise the lab,
Walking sideways in a diagonal,
I reach my high desk.
I stretch my neck to discover the documents,
Hiding silent in the back,
While the others follow me
with their eyes filled of water.
The arrival home
Is a proper for the intense day
As the boiling stew expects
a smile and a daily achievement.
The day closes sweet and homey
After hours in the artificial world
That takes your breath away.
A small post-it can hardly contain
The emotions you transmit
With your disappointed eyes
And needy body.
I will write you a sentence
And it will give only a direction
for the future, as the present is nothing
Lean in and Throw your hand
into the thin crispy air
Even if you don’t have anything.
Your offer is will
And it will be grabbed
with violence and hearty gratitude
When the hypothesis seems like a stranger
And the results hold your feet to the ground.
Like a rockstar on the stage,
I sweep through my slides
In the beamer’s strobo light
And sing of proteins and behaviours
While the others shout and stare.
My music is rhythmic
And my beat regular
To take on a unique journey.
I define my meaning
Picturing those pointy questions
And surrounding myself
With carrots and clear waters
Where baby ideas are born.
The passion of birth
Is a bright light I feed
Like a little girl moves her little hand
To the pigeons.
I draw delicately my borders
And guard them with criticism
the whole day in the lab.
I paint the intruders
of the colours of support and good attitude
While their footprints contaminate and enrich
The working space or me.
Numbers in the table,
Like kids holding hands in a line,
Show me the direction
While tickling my brain
In this hide-and-seek game.
The pull and magic of the hidden trend
Make me a solo artist
Behind the curtain of an unapologetic stage.