composite
sick little girl
who wanted
everything, hurt
to occur
everyone, hurt
to be there
dancing with cormorants
seagulls
running with wild rabbits
listening to the stars…
I wanted a radar
for everything hurt
the hair, the eyes,
the throat, the ears
industrial silence
and star empty music
hurt, too
…I was sitting on this European 1950s bed
wondering if I should use blue for the walls
green for the ceiling
knowing nothing about
ceramics
needing those other people
people I’ve loved,
like a wall…
intended to go only down
running up for the difference
learning to love
readjusting to
civilization
a lucky machine
transparent fish
steam & silos
thinking about those ceramics
I knew nothing of
people I’ve loved
like a wall
collapsing factory grounds
judgment
cohesion
always tired
I hurt
selling the things
keeping nothing
but worn out shoes to run
hair to hurt at dawn
eyes to scratch out
wide open, at night
readjust to the desert, between
dance with the early stars
the cormorants, seagulls
hunt wild rabbits
learning to love… again?...
ships anonymous
the sea, the land
circles of plague
pandemic waves of fog
flags caveat
no one aboard
music of the all-white
majestically docking
ships
stared at through bedroom eyes
anonymous, hurting
with one prerogative only
wharf, helm, the sea,
the land
…I was sitting on this European 1950s bed
moving on quicksand
sinking
disturbed
in terrible shock
afraid of streets, factories
colors, people
afraid of sound,
of rocks like flesh
even of walls, anonymous
ships
sirens on shingle, now look –
that quicksand took me away
faster than cormorants did
flags weaved still on hurried fog
sheltering our modest cabin
vomiting
the little black egg of wisdom
we took by mistake
while she was the sea –
we, merely pale
curious
ornaments…
fragile to changes and return,
we all are alike, a wall
of friends
handicap family
of things and stars and beaches
an endless brick graffiti
returning, returning to changes
learning to love
to forget… to abandon
…the rocks looked like flesh
the beach was completely deserted
but for one sick girl, who wanted everything
all of a sudden, a voice
near, far from the sea, then from the sea
circling around, no, not a voice - a coma of voices
plague galore
universe in a shell, beautiful…
…and everybody was singing
I carried no suitcase
no photographs
I was out there with the cannibals
just sink… sell the things
let the waves overwhelm you
I was there with the cannibals
I did not care for much besides
a pair of shoes
and cigarettes
also, the business
I wanted a machine
a moving bed, not on quicksand
all by itself, by the wall
taking me to prominent bedrooms
away from the vast hospital hall
by my will only,
not by quicksand
or cormorants’ wing
alone
industrial units close
poisonous vapors hit the winter sky
high chimneys, machine guns
to the little birds
awake in sludge of the freezing sea
aware and tortured
punctuated by chemical
arrows
transparent fishes die, cook
wild rabbits
white noise follows
those birds impaled on red pump sun
as cruel dawns crawl slowly by
to sleep by the sick girl’s side
on this European 1950s bed
I think I’ll paint the walls all green
the ceiling blue
so I’ve got an illusion of sky
every time you’re away
on business
an illusion of fields
while you’re walking
on the flesh of rocks
singing with everyone, aborted
above deserted sands
her worn out shoes marked
beauty
sliding down
always about to drown
a flag on fog, her moving bed
the quicksand dream
terrible shock of birth
people she loved, like a wall
ships anonymous
cormorants, seagulls, wild rabbits
silos, steam,
industrial units…
relax, the sea won’t reach you
with its anemic slum fingers
the city takes care of its prey
magic sleeps on deserted beaches
the girl’s still swimming
naked
irrelevant
free
orphan night in splendid isolation
finally sinks the bed
allows you
to copulate
with factory void
quarantine flags
all-white ships
gigantic
all in the skin
of a friend
pleasant radios
star music fantastic
deeper and deeper
in quicksand vortex
cannibals sing with the sea,
the land, wild rabbits
cormorants laugh
of sacred
return
and as far as I’m concerned,
I, the voice of the beach, everyone singing
we should all open a ceramics shop
at Via Alighieri
and learn to love:
abandon everything.
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