Svuotatasche by Thomas Liu Le Lann, 2021

At first there is the hill
bronze spines that must be climbed stolen lighters from fairmont drunken nights at nikki beach
few naked boys, always awake, bff' s at the dawn of a perfect day !
riding the subie and gone for real flipping over the svuotatasche
any hills disappeared from sight objects fall, smash
behind the dome, pictures unfolds
terraces that need to be cleaned
powdered by the two teenagers' work
in haste their shirts turned to dirt
undressed, waking up the stained epidermis
surrounding flowers are sprinkled with splashes
one of them is too hasty
and might get scratched
they cohabit, their sprays eject scoop up the cursed molds relish in them
spring awakens their cherries so pleasant, inspiration come they moisten themselves becoming permeable to it
in the remainders stained by the other' spraying
his germ abruptly turned irremediable leaving no time to dress
it’s Monaco dude bodies and flowerbeds practice to bloom again
shooting surrounding silence fuckboys chewing abdomens turning those broken places pleasure resorts adorning us displaying their wounds
and escaping liquids, end back to the backside of the hill Alfredo's ties snaking around we get out of the car
at the edge of Dolceacqua the border is crossed
a new stage emerges, as follows: booming arsenal of pilots collecting clay
under and between tires mud of their curls
then down the fleeces There are:
crushed natures massed by their gear saddles that caress
drawn out by very long ones
like carpets in time of races
which they hold on to
bursts densely
sowing danger
he, breaking down his Yamaha
moaning « je pisse donc je suis »
propelled in pieces
sludge of the shirts, again
other scented drosses
exploring their flirtships
fantasises their accidents
melodious wounds smoking an unruly relationship
they are any years old, you guess
clay dried under their soles
the swamps heal wherever they plant
their friendly seeds
the silence of the boys
very dry clay cracks
the whisper of the bikes remains
his buddy throws on the spot
the rear-view mirror, the forearm
biceps dissolve smell of the rubbers
gommini ! gommini !
gommini boom boom
then the day passed
to all the men and things
that are left at the bottom
of my svuotatasche, bye

– Thomas Liu Le Lann, Svuotatasche, 2021