Still Life

On the table a bowl of fruit, in the bowl:
two delicious yellow and read apples, two rust colored prunes,
with a darker ring around the stem,
a quince apple yellow and green from Vranje;
next to the bowl a coarse terracotta candle stick,
with a tallow candle half burnt,
three loaves of bread, one onion,
a bottle of beer, dark blue, with no label.
You could call it a composition…



Or:
A still life not yet a symphony of the spheres.


I ask myself:
Should I break a loaf, light the candle
and move the candle stick closer to the fruit?

The beer bottle more to the right?
Cut the onion in half?
The bowl of fruit should sit more toward the center of the table?
Oh, composition is full or roundness!
I will spread then with my fingers the colors on the canvas…


A gunshot. The composition on the table seems stunned.
Gunshot, gunshot. Three of them. I go up to the window:
below, among the houses, a man with a gun
draws near to a wounded dog, a couple of steps away.
He takes aim: his left leg

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