Dave

Poem for Dave the homeless gentleman who came to sit next to me in the park of Haven green in ealing broadway. Life is violent Dave, you know it and I feel sorry for you and your stomach which received this punch from a bouncer at the airport, younger and stronger than you. Life is violente and offers very little space to the dreamers,the free people, unless they prostitute themselves and sell their dreams, coded, tighed up for the others, those who almost always satisfied themselves from the social reality,this pretended reality.My cigarette was burning to the zenith, I was listening to you and collecting the rest of your heart rotten by life and alcohol. Your heart was an apple, there was just one quarter edible left but that was the best and you were sharing it with me. The rest had so much fermented in the torment that at this time it must have turned into cider...The Christ is not dead, we can meet him at every street corner, in every city of the world. He simply doesn’t have a job, a car and a garage to meticulously park it in, he doesn’t have a family neither a garden with the grass mowed every sunday and hedges to eat with his children sheltered from his neighboors’s view. I love you and will never forget you Dave.