Broken radio station

One ordinary object.

The surfaced marked by blood of history.
The core, receiving an attractive story.

Winter depression.
Summer sensation.

In an unknown village.
At the imagined beach.

During conversation with a lonely lady.
During kissing with a naked candy.

Endlessly rotating blades.
Endlessly open gates.

There. There. There.
Everybody, care.

Instead, prosperity of tree.
Apples on a hungry tree.
The most valuable colour.
Green colour.

From the smallest age.
Remaining in the crowd, in the middle of a cage.

One bullet affects the whole group.
Ten guys embrace one loop.

One small object.

Gifted by a precious instrument.
Incorrect fuel, it’s the end, no rent.

Nobody can find.
A picture user guide.

One explanation why.
The antenna is still online.

Voices of invisible heroes.
The ink of obese bones.

Stickers of extrovert bottles.
Red flags shinier than dead tomatoes.

Only ads.
Wanting to replace dads.

It guided me like a map.
Until I discovered a gap.

In the beginning, loneliness.
Untouchable illness.
Empty silence.
Fading violence.

That machine raging on the highway.
Drowned under Byron Bay.

Stop, a broken speedometer.
My own heart, finally free to write a letter.

Desires coming from my own soul.
Fingers creating my own bowl.

Tongue, composing my own chapters.
Nose, following my own answers.

Self-talk, powerful inner voice.
Whispering from the time there is no noise.

No obligation.
Disconnect the speaker of the nation.

A voluntary solution.
How to cure human pollution.

A false illusion, I’m disconnected.
A warm melody, I’m truly connected.

Maybe, away from city lights.
Maybe, away from shallow highlights.

Probably without current tragedies.
Probably without coming prodigies.

Consistently listening to the artist controlling the moves of his violin.
Proudly celebrating what is here, what is in.