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Calm
Bread grows slowly, after a long massage on its conceding pastry
It will stretch itself with denser and denser filaments while the process goes ahead on it’s own.
Rhymed movements on what makes sense to do then and there, now
Simple bread, eternal good for all, forced to exist
Scientist with no white doctors vest value how much it will be worth on the markets
Water is luke warm to help levitate
Shattered doe will melt with the forming pastry
Long, slow, repetitive movement melts even salt.
Time goes by smiling and approving, long, slow
Outside stupid polemics get light, fires with no wood
Meanwhile bread grows, forever slow in its modern shape
It waits the end of the process with no sentiment
The mixture is more and more elastic and hard, to stretch it is hard
The oven doesn’t need to be lit yet, there’s time and he’s sleeping
From outside they observe our life, which we too bare astonished
Now the bread has grown, it doesn’t need to do it anymore
It allows itself to come out of the shape, it allows itself on to the table
I massage again, gently caressing it
The mixture is perfect, it’s tough inners respond to me immediately
Caress after caress it answers again and says: again again
Now it’s time to wake the oven up and light it
It has to be warm in order to welcome the bread and let it become an adult
A few cuts on the pastry: walks for excess humidity
Crude flour on it’s nice round face: a lover’s make-up
Bread enters the oven. Outside traffic is nervous
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