I.
my mind is restless
disturbed water nothing there
but that eternal grey blanket
a twist of awareness
too small to be conscious
too big to be denied life
fleeting as a name
the fog lifting above
rooftops the fading mark
of another sleepless night
winter in bloodshot eyes
II.
still water nothing there
between the pillars of light
a ship sails from the dark
city of Venice
where the market salesmen
reign at night
they lurk behind the columns
of Piazza de San Marco
and in the crooked alleys
near Galle Zaguri
deserted place
the tourists have faded
with the fog they move
only in twilight
still water nothing there
but the ancient empty streets
too dead for dreaming
(still working on the titles)
The last two lines belong to Bob Dylan.
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