I ran through a rain drenched town and jumped ship as soon as a boat was leaving shore. I leaped from the boat onto the first available bus and the landscape changed. Finally my feet touched the dark path to the heart of the hidden Adriatic.
To sleep with Tito’s ghost rattling the doors and peaking from the wardrobe while in an energy vacuum I snore most elegantly. Some unforgotten soldiers linger on the beaches and look back to home and their loved ones. Not to be seen again as they enter another realm.
Old wise man provides a fine secret blood to quench our thirsts.
Old lady provides, smiling happily and nodding approval, some variegated fayre.
Another old lady creating lace and magical potions to sustain the heart and luck we have had so far.
To be hollered at and realise we are eating the fruits from another creations garden, guilt and another apology while both look at us with eyes red and engorged. We take tail and fly. I sigh at mysterious Geraldine, shy and provocative, while we shelter from the sudden downpour, in the lea of this venetian town house, drinking of the blood from Christs wounds.
Local rouge, prošek, and anchovies falling on my mind is the sudden rain.
Lost in a cacophony of fruity tastes. With Ziggy the Austrian botanist. Oh to eat a prickly pear ripe and juicy. But not thrust in my lips like Ziggy and his landladies tweezers.
Back with bag of locally grown hope
Eaten as a roast vegetable and pasta bake. Red wine, tomato and parsley jus.
Chasing a mosquito around the room
Resorting to camphor and tree tea oils.
And now I called to Roki’s to find work. I have to venture there on Monday. After I get a tuna steak and olive oils.
Harley Davidson biker, but with middle class soviet air. Kaltenberger Pils. If I can but work in Vis. I can do so much.