Violinist of Aurum

Frontal row,
delicious luck.

Thy simulated stoicism…
Thou art concentrated,
but inside not so quiet,
as thy body looks,
for in thy soul a storm succeeds.

Sublime music.

Curiosity plenty thou hast,
and multiple times thou turnst.

Thy electric eyes move following the staff,
but stop not at the final of the line,
they continue sliding to stop in an angle
perfect for me to admire them.

What is what thou admirest?
Is it I?
I have not so much luck.
Perhaps it is only the subtle inertia of the movement of the arch.

Or perhaps thou art sublimated
looking how many persons thou hast enchanted…
All that people behind me.

Thou seest me not, and yet
I am lucky because I see thee,
doing magic,
playing that violin,
charming everyone,
specially me.

Gilt violinist,
thy innocent face,
thy smile at the final…

The applause illuminates thee,
so sublimely,
so divinely.

Thou standst up
and kissest it,,,
I wish I were it
for thou kissest it…

Wherefore thou kissest it?
Has something excited thee so much
that has made thee desire
to feel something in thy lips?

The light of the reflector lustres
thy perfect coutenance,
violinist of aurum.

Capitalist Moral Prudence

-Sir… I think that…
-Tell me.
-I was going to express you a thought, but I decided to autocensor myself and not to do it.

§

Capitalist Moral Prudence

Autotorment autoinflicted
to power to continue [alive]
suffering, which some
how seems better than to stay
in the oblivion and not even
power to stay.

Why?

§

And if he dies being hero…
But heroes must be known.