19.05.13 The Rat Boy of Lucca
In my dream you were that short Italian man you like to call Rat Boy. His hair thin but bravely kept upon his head – contrary to the other Italian men.
Zero balls of skin striding through old city streets.
I had been speaking relentless Italian with a lady all crop top and curls about Capitalism. She laughed about renting out every room in Lucca. Many beds. You had taken drugs on her roof and subsequently turned into Rat Boy – kissing every Italian girl.
With dirt in the corners of your mouth. (Like you had had a visual meltdown when faced with a girl next to a pot plant.)
I remembered my friend telling me (with much regret for the man) that Rat Boy was too short to win the love of a woman.
And even though I knew you were really a tall lady inside a Rat Boy with thin hair and a teenage hairy lip, I still loved you for the rat you were but had to walk away.
As heavy as a washing machine, towards my ancient future.