SYNOPSIS
Speak tongue!
Neither luck nor docility not even graphomania were their generators (and for that alone they were reclusive) nor is the youth that wrote them any longer thank god
Devoted from the get-go to their archetypes for years he claimed he fought the global spider whenever he realized he was missing the essential wisdom faith and love he would delve into the accrual of that which had not yet been wasted in all this adulteration and as his dreams were irrigated by the mellowness of the unsullied sources he would buy off losses with some verses that all in all are termed f o s s i l s of the spectacle that all of us are ululating
Their compromising perpetrator (as much in rationalism trapped as is he hateful towards keeping balance and simultaneously nightmarishly muse-inspired) thrilled all along (it distracted him from the ashes of this place) some uninheritable knowledge about the mythology of human yearnings and though he knew how to evade his yearnings deftly he yielded nonetheless (indeed self-destruction works invisibly it too is a monstrosity of depraved power) what's more besides beingtormented by peace’s common plunders he took his loved ones down with him regrets never availed (how much can a stab hurt the ephemeral corpus?) then again against those who embittered him being his unloved ones the unwanted vengeance of the ethical somniloquy was taken (how much harm can you cause to anyone you didn’t kill on stage?) therefore many of these verses benefited from losing all topicality and sense of provocation and what in their form once seemed hideous unbearable and doomed became now something intimate a malleable material a taken for granted cloth that doesn’t seem all that bad now and their view of the world does not of course find enemies (greed I mean and uninvolvement) what are you supposed to wish for you do not know for the savage present that’s eating you inside? or for tomorrow’s embrace that strengthens by parching the soft soil whereupon your liveliness was drained at once? it should rain though rain on the waste lands ceaselessly indiscriminately softly and continuously because having changed the whole insides of the non-transient bliss look at us unanimously signing treaties with the pitiful misery of others as long as we don’t know — nothing hidden m y m e l o d r a m a t i c h o w l !
So let them be walked about like museum exhibits that reveal themselves only to those initiated if however at some point the trailheads of the angelic routes are sought (to the deepest depths) works such as these probably won’t be completely vapid to the oestrus-infixed human-delver the violent impressions from the reign of those sheep-shaped hold a position (barely corporeal) in the chronicle of agony after that the friends who have witnessed all the cuts and silent but with compassion suffered unwaveringly the innumerable shrieks or scourged joined with their own if necessary they will move the strings and those will momentarily obey so no fear even if they get lost after spending the night out for they surrender unconditionally
They surrender the way the crushingly defeated do.
[ 17 ]
BESIDES THE FUTURE
Time Present and Time Past
Around her waist
Experience
A girdled python.
[ 26 ]
SUMMERS IN THE CITY
A.
In my veins the sickness of the impending
The roots of my hair an edge in the Charioteer’s fingers
My nape is recounting the sistra of Talmud
I am descending no doubt from the empty neighborhoods
Of the friends that loved me If only ah
If only I served a different art just so I could give them
Delight through broad participation!
B.
I am roaming around like boiling blood
And next to this girl beyond reason
I’m knitting a creeping sorrow
And yet
Not long ago I myself evaporated
I summered well not long ago
I dragged off me this inexhaustible puberty
Like the centaur’s shirt
Just yesterday I entered the trade
And they counted every ossicle under my skin.
C.
Aborigine of Poetry
In whom do I confide my pain?
That August so monitoring.
[ 47 ]
EXODUS
Deep down there’s still an unyielding will to live and a curse
At the place where verse sought c l a i m
But your hands kept going
With their street planning regular and infallible
And you always slipped away with finesse
In any case the heart is back in place
Blood is coursing through my veins once more
Minimal fluctuation an old and pointless story
It happens to all of us.
[ 56 ]
SUMMER SONG
SINCE WE ALL KNOW THAT YOUTH
CERTAINLY DOES NOT END WITH YOUTH
Living in some madness I’m aware
And that which I couldn’t stand to bear
Came to be the only flight that is real
Harp and guillotine and steering wheel
It is also her that opened up the view
Woman-counterfeit an idea too
Often even her caresses are a mask
Under water and within the dusk
Pounce on your azure prey
Give your titties over to the sea-sway
Drip-drip-drop here goes your pubic gold
Splashes on your thighs’ fork behold
Out you go in the illuminated lanes
And then sever all the lawful reigns
With the tailor’s shenanigans and sleight
Mess around setting fires left and right.
Alcohol is raining highlights they’re yours
Three guerillas banging all your doors
Let them plough all across your cove
Tenderhearted evanescent dove !
Calculate your openhanded lover
What is left after the night’s over
It is just enough to save your soul
Plus three hundred twelve that’s all.
[ 68 ]
THROUGH THE SPECTRUM OF TIME
She who has gotten you was not my foe and has become
And still I mean her no harm
This much I have despaired that I would eventually get you
But you touched my ageing body
And at that spot there’s still the scar
— — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Sometimes there’s a bitter laugh thinking that your victory
Stood inconsequential up against nature
If you could a bit more a little more fervently all over
Just a wee bit touch me.
[ 73 ]
CLOTHO’S TURN
I can already picture him twenty-two y/o with a bashed in scull at war and if not that
Fifty-five with rapid metastases or hell
Eighty-nine with a peaceful passing a crock in its entirety
Those who called immortal things barely more resilient say a lot more
Than their transient lives will have driven him
To hours and hours of wasting from without pleasure
The minor that lasts j u s t r i g h t
But he’ll talk he’s still just seven months old
He’ll fiercely serve the residue of world’s wonder and most importantly
When blessed and blissed he’ll be ecstatic
And it doesn’t get any worse Greek means disenchantment.
[ 88 ]
WITH THE HEART’S SOFT TURBULENCE
Fleeting youth won’t let me rest tonight
Pan a face in the ads yet again
Laughs to tears and chortles punching holes into the night
But crashes onto apathy the apperception of pathos is insomniac
Like when wanton sorrow arises and I like it a little better then
I can tell I long ago became a blackbird and it speaks
It speaks a bit it beaks the same but this this isn’t me
Of that my mind’s eye convinces me fully
Fawn’d upon by tender yearning
Tonight all the shells of sea glisten
Every floors has resurfaced
And the moon shines on its light not erasing this dark place
But now the lyric cries the lyrical emotions are towering above
Vehemently antagonizing the order of reality
Whose pettiest imprints are alas superior
To my most derailed dremes
In this melancholic light the right blossoms bloom
And fight off monotony the yawps
Hurry Wait for me Cover me I’ll be there
I’ve been worried for some time now I roam the land with you in mind
I’ll hang tight for the rendez-vous You put a spell on me I’ll hang tight
But you should leave me now to live the loss
The opportunism of existing and existing in the civitas
Same way Rastignac said it something’s up between this city and me
Something’s always happening in our cities even though
It all remains unchanged when we depart and the rhythm carries on
Unfazed in the squares the streets day in and day out
Wherein tomorrow the structures should be changing colour or facades even
Some disappearing others sprouting technology should be leaping back and forth
Parks submerging in the depths new boulevards unfolding
Only way enduring life and its limitations
Ah them savages got it right changing their names
Absentees turning their lives into some mess
Huge machines of natural or divine order of the world are sailing further away
Daemonic and demonic in their conception as much as in their function
Next to them utterly uncredible but towards their credibility the other one strives
She who was forms through differentiation on the sixth month
The machines with their absurd predestination are driving me mad
Their daedalic design that deals with it all unsettles me
The design that no one dares cross
What happened with the differentiation the blind instrument of instinct and sentiment?
It tossed aside the enormous burden of the unforeseeable
Within nature’s microscale all this would’ve been so pure and so gorgeous
But in my city they’ve come to be this huge misunderstanding
The male constantly bargaining
The female goes with the goods portions for foxes
And chooses whatever she wants alias no honey
Within this city where the cold has often driven in a solitary corner
And where I half-remember some cozy days
No I don’t need no myths in nights like this no fairytale
I desire sermons and uneasy souls show me where the sword stabs are
I’m searching for a brash Dionysus silenoid pseudo-apollonian
For the sermones of uprising
I can now only bear comrades around me
Warriors incapable of utilities of utilidades
Winged by their pure substance
With a burdened skull by that universal liquid
That causes misery to the visitors whenever the discreet
Lamp is lit beside them
With the ripe child of the fruitless longing
With the heart’s soft turbulence.
[ 106 ]
THE CIGARETTES OF THE DECEASED
(Thought for a Partner)
Didn’t know what to do with them at first
They represented him and murdered him
Gold is what they took and ashes what they left behind
I wanted him here to berate him for not taking them out of his mouth
Was it just smoke then? was this it?
Ah existence shrinking by the inexistent
I won’t throw them away then for unsmoked like that
As day by day they dry but stand by me
They appear to be the w i s h that is now pointless to utter.
[ 107 ]
THE WAY OF ALL FLESH
Younger but for far too long he couldn’t see
Why his contribution would be less significant
Than that of Mao Tse-Tung in China or Perón over in Argentina
Or why he should find hindrance in providing
As much as Pasteur or Plank or Cervantes
The years though passed by like an unshakeable pile of rejections
Him amongst the many touching gold and turning it into lead
But they passed by and he barely managed
To make two girls in two marriages the second one lasted for two years
To be elected lecturer in his field for five months by the syndicate
And a few years after that to get his movie script accepted
By a big firm even that however underwent
Such revisions that his name on the screen was
Amongst five or six others utterly unknown to him
Two books of his were also published
Within twenty years of each other
One paper from his youth on his science
And a series of tales Men I met
Lucky then? his star was firmly glued
With all its points on the bottom of a marsh
Besides happy how having buried in his lawn
The history of the world?
Subversive feelings? No — p a i n (that)
The lone crock he was he even drew the line for the total sum
What went wrong for him? what did he miss?
What did he not realize? some cosmic economy perhaps?
Some legislation that we all know but is unwritten?
The idea that he was flesh never sufficed
With all the flesh’s possibilities
That he did not exhaust especially the sadder ones
That our flame’s slim and good luck is all one can say
The “prosperity” that increases with “prosperity” his was pretty good
Unless ye kill a man the bridge won’t hold
Like Yola says
If man doesn’t start loving (she didn’t clarify)
Surely man dies to an extent?
So he wasted the way of the common fate time
Looking by the pointers of his killers
That had left his youthful fantasies run rampant
Just because Enlightenment cut the stream towards the pyramids
“Too late” he thought never a lyon a fool
All these centuries how many squinted
Slaves? How many did unfaithfully stray
From all flesh’s
Utterly unlikely but only way?
And he placed this final moment on his temple.
[ 118 ]
CONCLUSION
What a story that was!
As I was holding my tunic wide open
For the storm to find refuge
There was this breeze
That not even the roots of my hair felt.
[ 125 ]
ENIGMA
given to my mother
reißender Ströme
R.M.R.
Epic hero
Before breaking his neck
Mercilessly consumes himself.
[ 128 ]
THE LOVABLES
Truth withers all that’s good
That why immortality deprives us of it this early
And others for us and us for other things ever more poor
We learned to age through the tear
No matter which pocket we check
We will drag out unfolded
The station’s prehistoric cloth.
[ 140 ]
MURDER
While being mundane heavy empty heads en masse
Our hearts igniting with a green dove’s grit
Somebody saw us from the deck using his glass
Only the shiv was swift nobody expected it
Our hearts igniting with a green dove’s grit
Plenty emeralds and rubies lilies in a vase
Only the shiv was swift nobody expected it
The reaper’s shadow passed that never leaves a trace
Plenty emeralds and rubies lilies in a vase
What slate pencil took our place off the chart?
The reaper’s shadow passed that never leaves a trace
We asked ourselves the when the how we knew at heart
What slate pencil took our place off the chart?
And we were nipped like some sad songs right in the bud
We asked ourselves the when the how we knew at heart
The very day old fruits will finally turn bad
And we were nipped like some sad songs right in the bud
Sang poorly by nostalgics trying to surpass
The very day old fruits will finally turn bad
While being mundane heavy empty heads en masse.
[ 144 ]
MOZART K. 588
Alba “Of Return”
WITH A FIERY KISS
Full of Truth like death
Do you feel me? Towards the doorstep-guillotine
Stripped from everything
And not flying
Of course not
I enter with this step
What can they do I wonder
The people who love us? Whistling softly
Not awake yet and yet I’m in
How did I get here
With my wise tiller broken down before even setting sail?
From immemorable time dead
But show yourself once more
With t h a t wind over there
One moment as I lay dying !
Nonsense blows and it’s freezing
And uninvited beyond the human affairs
The dream
A copper of the “whatever comes”
Holds me
In that which concerns me least about life.
[ 152 ]
UNDER THE WANING MOON
Creature almost unstable the easiness of happiness
Is spread before him minefield
He hasn’t see a bird traversing
Virgin forests stumble on a branch
Nor a lightning on the whole wide clear air.
[ 159 ]
TELELUSTROUS STAR
OF THE PALING LITTLE MAN
Chorus of Elders (silens); Coryphaeus (is last)
Hence I’m cursed
Photinus
My lips be armed accordingly
To aspirations and aims of the endpoint I’m nearing back-first
Resembling some agitator or preacher or instructor who’d keep going even with a slit throat
Confessing informing and making it all worse with angry spouts
So let my words whether they reach their nations become
A pyriphlegethon for this disgrace
Dew for the absolute virtue that withdrawn into obscurity gave birth to everything
Anything but solace a painkiller as useless
As the band-aid for him who stands before the death squad
It’s the times that with the iron weight of the irreversible error have been cast a shadow
By the hastily revoked crude pretence from days of old hastily and detached
From its surrounding life from every causal relation
Bloodthirsty gooseherds boiling not over country
With an oath of death or freedom not over siblings children parents wives relatives memory lethe
Uprisen off their deathbed with eyes like mushroom soup they’re trumpeting anew the mangy pretence
Some feculent soldier can disperse with sixty fusillades here and now the request
And the gaze’s right to rush carefree from mountain-top to the open pelago forever
Εὐηργεσίη yes it gives fruit bushmeat fish fertile flocks
You wd/ also have to be permitted as to not lie awake expecting the highwaymen of power
(the most sacred they cd/ provide wd/ be social fight)
As for the big terrors their magnetism
Imagination is big enough a kingdom so as to not asphyxiate the imprisoned
So not for a better tomorrow under the consultance of the past
Only quiet men death-fearing indecisive exposed to awe for another man
To the greatness of his unknown cosmos
That’s inviolable even from the display of an art of operating on the body and armed
To the teeth with nothing but determination for their own body Honorable Defeatism! Fear
Aglow by our potentiality as men!
*
The quiet men only spend the blood that’s theirs
Their ears are torn apart by each declaration of war
In the face of Great Danger they cannot help their nation
If forced to take a life for their descent they say “happy”
Not “proud” (I got a thing or two about that later on)
Their worthiness is judgement shanking the eardrum that leads
To self-pity not to frankincense and myrrh under their feet
We’ve met many deft men killing instead
Without need of great decisions or courage
And they are many while just a few wd/ have sufficed
How could I then stop admiring
Those not made of the butcher’s kidney or tail
Those not giving instantly a sense of safety and shelter to their wives
Those not yearning the admiration of loungers
Of brokers or slogan-loving chickenshits and their unearned immunity
Of every genocide’s workers
The anathema gushes on them artesian
Damned be they who handily give up the gambling and the minial allowance t h a t ’s t h e m
For glories of the butcherknife and the machine-gun
Damned be the stalwarts of bureaucracy and of the come il faut restaurants t h a t ’s t h e m
Dreamers of “the big break” tripping others t h a t i s t h e m
Dropping the sports section putting the coffee aside
To lightly enlist for dead ideals and suspicious purposes
Damn this underdevelopment too that has allowed all these squalls to rampage
And to go wild stray in the noggins of the plebes
Negatives-of-Man trashcans the best amongst them is but a wellies’ footprint on some muddy road
Schemes brutality and lies are their forte but those won’t work those won’t give fruit
Without passive or complicit silence so shout it out
What seemed a draw of the many isn’t but a prank staged by the few
Wheat looked inevitable is a cunning moment’s birth
What appeared worthy community’s respect now is repulsive and unbearably ridiculous
*
Who are those hoping to ensure peaceful sleep for their children by killing and then killing again?
The happiness of the beloved through the lobbies of each country of every single country?
The happiness of the privileged bull or sissy that has had it all on a platter?
The happiness of a null talent that makes it work by collaborating
With cultural industries for the anonymous the masses?
Who are those u p - t h e r e selling meat for civil war
Or those still getting cash u n d e r for mess and slaughter?
Who are those over there waving deceit as flag or those considering beheading an honour down here?
I’m talking about them who dare to think of their hand as hand of justice for life or death
Or at the very least thinking that their self holds some opportunistic priority against each of their victims?
The latest carnage against them without weapons this amorphous pile of meat Feb. 23 in Sudan
Is a huge loss cannot be compared
To the loss of fifteen calamitous governments
Of divisions with randoms or mercenaries for this
Latest carnage against them without weapons is an unblemished hero founding myth of welfare
A hero-killer’s hand is not the same as that of a hero-suicide’s
Same way that for the star spangled ‘tis not the same Whitman and Lincoln
Moments lasting moments show that it is possible to have country without being scoffed at
(I warned you I had a thing or two)
For it is not a vacation house the home soil that was heated all winter while you were gone
You have one even without needing someone to hate
Don’t be ashamed if you say to yourself how dearly the wind blow over there for you t h e r e i s
A home soil (same way there are Middle Ages) without barren solemn quaintness only-begotten Scheria and Ethiopia
(Epirus Crete Spain Cyprus Provence Iran splendid explosions of lyricism confirm this)
That only wants to remember disasters not relive them
We all stepped out from the dark armed but in the face of light most of us were thunderstruck by love
Grace of living grace of living those you love surrendered us bare into the gangs that convinced us of the mine and the yours
When drowning we set ourselves on fire at our wits’ end we slaughter
And between suicide and killer is the activist of class war t h e i n c o n t r o l a b l e
I n t h e h e a r t o f t h e a v a l a n c h e
But like we said it isn’t all invincible like natural phenomena
And generalizations that resemble common resentment and fit whining like a glove
If they don’t help us understand the world they cloud it
I have a reason for submitting to the law of such questionable conventions a l l i n v i n c i b l e
IT IS NOT ! clear mind don’t be fooled
Across the Bushes stands Jan Palach
And across the Pol Pots the infinite Gandhies
Those holding instruments of human extermination
Like it is the naturalest thing
Poisoned indeed by abundant nature
Hygienists and those certain went too far with it
like every fascist
Those who may have cried when they lost their mother
Or who will cry once it happens (most I mean) but wouldn’t care for another mother’s tears brought upon her by them
And for some suit a sports car a cruiser without control of concience
They wd/ rip out the liver of their neighbors’ only daughter
Shall roam the earth for all eternity torn from where they gorged down to where their shit drops from
They are not upright persons we should turn our back on them at the agora
And those who humiliate scorn indict or evade them
Should be perceived as banqueters and friends
*
The old men are at fault for it all they k n o w and still act
They invoke and pretend to apply impartial distribution
But they only seek “love” illogical passion for approval hate spreaders
Coined the term “just war” because they’re being eaten up by their childhoods those black leeches
The old men they always send the firm body parts to rot
Utterly convinced for immortality (the crucial falsehood of memory) through sacrilege
(Then again they did see us remember so many for the great pain they caused
But what sort of endurance do you consolidate by planting to infinite unknown Egos your ghost?
So in the end what victory will have been achieved by your existence?
And how arrogant through begging to solidify a memory that’s moving life backwards!)
Selfish and venal and ill intentioned
They’re selling guns do they have no mother using guns
Completely corrupted white-haired men with brides and grandchildren
Double-breasted ferrets in institutions Janus-faced double-dealing
They tremble for their skin when suggesting that the gown (the robe) is in danger
Old men are dangerous they’re the reason
Some end up thinking of themselves as gods
Or others pretending to be one to be unaware
All power to the young N o w to the beautiful soviets
(With their signature here only
“N O B L O O D A N D N O P A I N” that’s enough)
Under the banner of the easy life s o l i d a r i t y
The solidarity of pleasure and philotes!
Die So–li–da–ri – tät !
And from the only bloodless way v o l i t i o n a l r e n u n c i a t i o n
Surrender retreat removal of old men
Final disarmament of the unburied dead!
*
Holding the head of a hated enemy in what an impasse would he find himself at
The blood-covered executioner the avenger of his people
Who can punish nature for its norms?
This equilibrium of death is paralysing my nerves
If one is not wishing for a lowly passive creation
How can one curse the charm of aggression
The passing of our women in their finest hour
His rotten dick will sow the seed of the children
Who will later agonise over when’s their time to be eaten
But I‘m laughing even more at the other dick
(Who’s now getting mad for calling him a dick)
The by-blow of folksy wisdom smith of unanimity
Infiltrates the ranks
Of melancholics (those who I mostly communicate with)
He’s in another category only gives a shit about his blood
Not anyone else’s — — — I don’t care
With or w/o arguments death’s boldness makes me shiver
*
They even turned the struggle for survival into rosy divine grace
But I’m prompted to wonder what do they think they were
R. Jr. and R. Sr. and Ch. and Gl. and W. that toe-rag
C. and S. the sludge and H. and B. or M. his dishwasher the goddamned S. the maiden ogler
K. and K and D. (I’m mentioning but some of the biggest butchers just a few
Damnatio that art will someday achieve for only art can bear it) why wd/ he allow
Children to be sent into the meat mincer (other’s children) the excommunicators the tartar of our history
With viscous serum of stupidity and delusion poured in all their veins
Up to the brain the soul the edge of earth the bottom (or not? is there no end?)
There hasn’t been a single vote authorising war
All allowances of murder are printed by hypocrisy not to mention
No such plague masked or even audaciously held up in front of the lens
By the hair a severed head like some sorry-ass Judith impounded in a brothel
So many hard puberties consents self-transcendences hard hard
Rendered void how? Through the handy blade! just names now
† † † ☭ † †
Georges Kurt Simon Евге́ний Thanos Reiner Hayreddin
† † † ⚘ † † † †
Bob Yiannis Kurt Hans Kostas Дми́трий Daniel — — —
Quite a few of them hadn’t been with a woman yet
One of those with the chopped-off tits on the landfill
(Neither wild celebration nor some local fair)
They only had enough time for the doubts of untimely youth and the body’s burden
Oh I will not accept that only the chains of dead values are allowing us
To live as we live in peace and die as we die in war
In terms with “Our shitty situation!” what Athenian messengers said to the Melians
Father and king of all my ass!
(Along with that ugly safarist who out of sentiment of responsibility and self-respect he wrote standing up
And poured preemptively into the cesspit many a small nonsenses if our western sensibility)
Alas within this pandemic stupefaction I reached both manhood and old age
I served as man I’m not leaving being excited from knowing this razza tot sententiæ
A link of biological sequence that shall last no longer than a falling star
Honestly though how’s father and king of all all they got?
Perhaps the whole reason is that life flows swiftly?
And do the punks and the wannabe thugs know this best?
Nor can you stand some hyperexecutioner some prosecutor of evil
When the biggest human sacrificers are of course slipping away
I mean governors and their representatives ok? Not the wrestlers
But let’s stop at last wiping out mankind and blessing this
(Let my wind-blown tongue dare steal from me all hope)
Who’s bestowing me an afterlife and takes away this one?
Why incense the guns? and why one virgin each?
Did he not enjoy gods’ copulation with the untimely dead?
Why some bisector man-god within time?
Was contemplatio not enough for him that keeps warm loathing
Towards the apocalypse police?
Why so many games with our weakened flesh and our mind’s shortcoming?
What for the trial of love by volition?
Why close to the sick soul sick nations
In the CV of those who old history honours eminently?
Victory? but what’s the meaning of victory? the right and the lesser aren’t even a single blood drop
With each one that’s spilled the heavenly eraser deletes
Sixteen centuries of strenuous peaceful works as a joke and alongside them
The possibility of thirty hundred hectares with sprinklers conifers or birches
Alright then we live in distant ghosts of nature and civilisation
Which virtuous man ever stood in battle when fire and blade governed? a man with a hammer what’s he gonna do?
Or should I judge the courage from the scar? how naive!
Life can be had like this too with suspicion and envy even for the good fortune that gnogs next-door
B y p r u n i n g s o u l s i t c a n’ t b e h a d
It can be had when lonesome and competitive and coarse in its barbarity
B y p r u n i n g s o u l s i t c a n’ t b e h a d
It can be had even when there’s scourging in the crowd’s most hideous isolation
B y p r u n i n g s o u l s i t c a n’ t b e h a d
It can be done with corruption and each man’s secret impairment
But we’ll begin from here tuning the Habeas Corpus
It is to be expected that the wheel will turn not half the people
Have to go Enough is enough with those cat-barfs!
He who leaves leaves only shiny weapons do not clang unto his shoulder or his hip
Nor does he drag them shineless only leaves leaves as a brittle flesh that
Only ever longed for flesh and living flesh is what it suits him
Sexual most merciful monster that divides an illicit union
Happy intellect that starts dancing in despair within the horror
That man dangerous for every hysterical mass gratuitous
He shall be foreign to the paradigms of the eternal mob and no woman shall crave him
If our women are also like that and if the same crib preserves both distress and vulgarity
This form arouses within me the most æsthetic
For such heroes of life I can utter kind words and wishes
Humans of this sort when cultivating the land they aren’t roughened by the wold’s solitude
If they’re raising animals up the mountains they aren’t turning into beasts
If serving art they don’t end up forgetful men or reptiles
In their poverty dignified and generous
In wealth ever upstanding and ever frugal
Modest when happy and stoic in their sorrow
If they enter the mentality of murder (rather unlikely)
The vortex of their mystical attraction does not infatuate them
Citizens of endurance and of methodless love
Words like vengeance defence of homes and altars
The apologia of supreme concepts —this last thing especially— with an axe
Is not if it ever was anything worthy of ancient narrations or myths
A creation with goods that would be more than enough for many more
Once and for all
Does not forgive the war the lowly life
“Half for money half for blood”
Why and who is forcing me to choose
I want a nation wandering speechless out of love with peaceful past doings
Let it dawn telelustrous the star of the paling little man just at the sight of a gun
The star of the stubborn soul that endures at any cost the horrid threat
Fixated at the only possible outcome losing
The star finally of the unprepared for all this propaganda
Of the one stomping Hades the one playing
A losing game over each submission
Of the one who always fulfilled what the mothers promised
(and they could)
The random wheat in the grinder
Beneath that let life bloom like a blossom one that I picture flourishing
And if at times he lowers his head this wasn’t his mission
A dim alone light and the colossal oneiroprophecy is flaring all-over
I can utter such words descending directly
From a long string of heroes of bloodshed
Triumphing against their admirers
Or ignoring them rather
And you witnessed how.
[ 167 ]
TRIUMPH OF FEMINITY
(The Theme and its Fall)
I’m picturing a minister abroad
Who made a wrong turn and dragged in blood whole nations
She’ll find the whorery over at the media abominable
IF of course she can’t earn some fresh cheddar for herself
(In which case she’d be willing to whore out
All the classmates of her daughter what am I saying?
Her daughter too what am I saying?
She’s already done it!)
God give me strength when she’s on her last days to say it
And say it thus
She’s a winkle with a mole’s head and she’s also got goose feet
Where her pussy was a stalagmite
(Oh my I look into the lens).
[ 178 ]
CERTAINTY
UNWAVERING UNDER THE BURDEN
No one would even give a single day of his current life for the glory
And he would give all the lives that’d follow with complete trust in the promise
For willful youth and health and glow
Especially when rowing away from his center
Except all of us differently when refuting it
i n v a i n
in the limitless tuning of the cord
among intestinal gurgles and some Vivaldi from the heavens
(’tis not petty) we all exist by necessity always
The light is hooked within our dark viscera
And it is lifting us.
[ 200 ]
WHAT A POEM CAN BE
What a poem can be is also darkness
Elevated ceremoniously through the light
Small smudges blemishes that no man takes seriously initially
Same way our martyrology body gets intertwined
With the sound of names of e.g. a king and his only daughter
In a foreign tongue under a tent of some military camp
A date like the 23rd of April 1616
Or a conclave of nuns with Danubio somewhere in there
Surely risen
Through the pulpy uniformity whence with futile musings
We struggle for the formation of what we’ll never share with anybody
In verses that abhor every easy breath
I.e. us lone and alone in our lifetimes
And this is why we feel for others.
[ 208 ]
MOMENTS FROM STUDYING
a. The Groundwork
My sturdy viscera are undone melted bronze
I can feel it they’re ready from the family life
And the time to face it is now.
b. The Follow-through
I found what I was searching for most of it
Needs tradition
That exceeds all my time off.
ROUTE
Trois Trios
[209]
CAUSE: ADULTERIUM
Before the same old café wherein
All three of us once were and in her ribs
I dove folding the strong wings of age
The spoiled reporters showed her
Down there
A blurry brazen fantastically travelled body
Without the riser that both the hair
Breathed in and the poor
Unresting bird-soul of love
I t h e n yielded under words a man of heart
Who sat across from me
Uttered while caressing the marble
And his eyes were melting by the light
And at once her taste
Was spread at every doorstep
As if it was no secret nor her own
And the next day years later
The milkmen of all evil
Brought once more something worse to the borders
Of the civitas the third
turbulent showoff
Who fired up his career
Through blackmail stuffed it
With all sorts of deceits
And at an advanced age topped it all off
By purchasing young prostitutes
(Sweet consolation
For the numismatologist’s sacred shadow)
I see him he sees me not what is the point?
The rumbling of an entire lifetime wasted
Around him tightens the iron collar
Which no one can abolish
And I see here his corpse unburied worn
No smell
And in this maddening wasteland
By the two wounds in my sternum
Like every other clueless man
I come to learn of my own death through my flesh for
I tried to make me too
A minimo
paradiso
terrestre
But in this treeless summer
With no birds or any other wingéd creatures
The scented air of wartimes
Announces a sweeter death
In a barely bearable shallow autumn.
1
METROPOLIS
[210]
RES EXTENSA
The city is not its music
Ground morphology or sky
But its people a bit maybe the buildings
And above all else the streets that mimic homeland
You’ve got no time for anything superfluous neither did I
Walk them to gather some impressions
But to bring into account pointless concerns
As neighbor or lover or a brushstroke (with black paint) of Seurat
And I tasted the transient that hurts and bites
Broken roadblocks and enleveled paving-stones
Lanes sidelined by sudden brakes
Many idled on or next to them the rest
Shoved deep in an underground prison
Or secluded in a tower with women (w/e they deserved)
The chosen city impeaches and delivers fruit
Glistening snow beneath the heels
Scribendi in lingua vetera
Judges each man according to his doings
All of its citizens traverse it in vestments
With the sober order that can afford to wait
As they’re holding history and he who shall be lost
With pulpit and people goes about causing despairs
He shall even declare how the wheel is turning
He one the cities two they do him they undo him
Heraldic metropolis womb without parents
Farewell with autumn h u e s
That the south wind unglues from the herbs
Oh how philosophers fear you and call off their ambushes
And how you fire up the imagination’s ironclad children
Oh Nineveh uncured still from your wound
Oh harvested by the myth
With a sole bang with a drawn out whimper
’Tis time to leave your secluded garden
Emptying your art’s bloody spoils
And throw something on but not
The condom “of the decade” made of hair
That soon shall melt just hurry
’Tis time to leave your little garden and to speak
Even through the mirror of this wonder risking
To be sometime portrayed mouthless
Nox animae magna sulle strade dell’ universo
Wherein the legion can come to life
Its streets absorb our steps
And experience never returns from the depths
At least memory inhabits it
And is lost alongside her with a sole boom
And the myriad-mouthed battle cry
like vertical incense
Double-edged thunderbolt.
[211]
NOSFERATU
Hide yourself ruminantly in a single verse
And this verse city with its castles
Needs history to be nurtured
And to wither the lamplight of the desk clerks
I say my face must be horrendously disfigured
When shapes and contours begin to dawn
In the soul’s passage through the last houses
The merciful verger of obedience
At the mountain’s base still twinight
The despised forces are barracking in my body
While some invisible hand moves “methodically”
And erases my features as on a blackboard
The gaze already deadened receives blood
Now instead of my own the desolate
Soul of vampires
A fuse comes and goes on my chest as I lean
And let the hive gently fall
But the inner soul rout is not as shook as before
On my back I feel the friendly tap
Of palms taught order by robbers.
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