Mete

                                                          Mete

                                                        Ovattato,

                                                        il rumore

                                                        del treno

                                                        divora rotaie,

                                                        dilatando

                                                        distanze.

                                                       Attimo dopo attimo.

                                                       vivo il tempo.

                                                       Mete si allontanano.

                                                       mete si avvicinano.

                                                       Il corpo muove arti,

                                                       con la mente

                                                       che spazia

                                                       dissociandosi

                                                       dall’attuale.

                                                       Si allontana

                                                       la meta,

                                                       raggiungo

                                                       la meta.

                                                       Fluttuo,

                                                       disincantato

                                                       e ibernato,

                                                       in una capsula

                                                       danzante

                                                       tra binari d’acciaio

                                                       e giungle di cemento.

                                                                          Giuseppe Romano

                  3 Luglio 2019