Carrots dance on the window sill
Watching my spaghetti getting dressed
For the party.
I touch and feel
The richness and roughness of the pasta
That brings sun into my home.
Working jamboree
WE talk of work, we speak numbers,
Hiding our personality behind white shorts
And grey skirts.
The day passes and I don’t recognize myself.
I listed my past curiosity
and what my hands can do with passion
To return myself at the end of the day.
Night protein party
The illusion of organization
Is fooling us
On our benches, in our offices,
In our freezer.
The uncontrollable magic happens
When the light is switched off and the drawer closed.
Our proteins in their tubes
Initiate the revolution
Out of our sight, behind our back
And subvert the order we imposed
To samples supposed to respond to our command
And follow our hypotheses.
The geometric rationally organized drawer
Is each night the land of anarchy
And the cause of headaches and endless hunts
In the morning.
Strategy of a failing life tasting
A new strategy of life
tells me to approximate
to be able enjoy the ups and downs.
Nothing is sharp
and everything has a margin of error
To turn the falls into possibilities
and the successes into mere stepping stones.
You survive yet not enjoy deeply
If nothing is enough and
Nothing deserves a celebration.
