Poetic proses - Remil
Remil in a pic of 2000
Carrara
marble
cold
as ice
under
my little feet.
Opened
skies as clouds
slashed
from lightning.
The
voice of God
into
a thunder
that
wounds your ears.
The
corridor
immense,
long, unending.
The
coldness
under
the feet of a baby
while
the ear splitting rain
wants
to crack the roof.
My
little hands
tender
and white
as
snowflakes
clench
a little cross
on
my chest.
A
blubbering voice moves
into
the wind of my thoughts.
-
Mom! -
Silence
My
voice calls you again
crying
into desperate torments.
Still
silence that
is
winding me up
like
the dragons of the fables
you
tell me everyday.
The
bedroom
lighted
from lightning
appears
bigger to my eyes.
The
shade of the dragon
wildly
on
my mother's body
dances
mortally.
Oh
my poor mom
who
is injuring and torturing
your
body?
I
will come to make you safe.
Whoever
you could be
dragon
or a shade of night
I
will go through your heart
with
my nails
and
will eat it
as
bread.
PARKING
Get
out!
I
don't want to see you.
You
squash me in a circle
without
any way out.
You
are annoying as the boredom,
encumbering!
My
feet are prisoners
from
brake and friction
while
I'm attempting to go away
from
this town
from
this world.
Footprints on the sand.
Walking
on wet deserts
I
find out again
the
ancestral essence of loneliness.
Mirages!
An
oasis of peace
among
green palms
and
huge waves of canister
that
wrap my body.
-
I saw the parking place first!
Don't
even try to take it,
I
could kill you! -
In
front of me
is
the glass of leftover champagne
with
the color of your lips
still
traced on it.
I
want to close my eyes
and
listen to the noise
of
my bones
while
my hands crack
dried
branches of trees
forgotten
from my mind.
Absolute emptiness.
The
flavor of champagne
sweet
and soft
on
my smoothed lips
that
I suck with lust.
Suddenly
a
cursed spider
on
the other side of the table
fixates
on my face.
Darned
woman!
You
are still in this room.
Why
don't you hide yourself
behind
the mountains of desires
where
my glance
can't
see you anymore?
But
still I see you
among
smokestacks of metropolises
dark
colored as these sticky paws
of
this spider that paralyzes my will.
My
half closed eyes
succeed
to perceive
the
orifice of your words
where
filaments
never
end weaving
this
web in the chasm.
Immobile,
breathless
while
the spider of your nightmares
keeps
fixed on my glance.
I'm
not afraid of you.
Come
Come
I
will offer you a drink.
15
Minutes
to
choose a cd
to
listen to.
I
don't want to hear any music!
20
Minutes
looking
for a book.
Short
minutes
like
the gasps of a second
while
as an imbecile
I
keep looking through the library
I
don't feel like reading!
25
Minutes
looking
for a movie
worth
seeing
Tarkovskij.
Bergman
Fassbinder.
I
really don't want
to
squeeze my brain right now!
3
Hours and 15 Minutes
of
lost time
in
the labyrinth of time
next
to a memory
that
never did exist.
Artificial
paradises
to
idiots
and
the poor of mind.
For
me
It
is enough
to
open my window
and
give my cheek
to
the hot wind
of
this hot town
that
offends and insults me
with
shivers of love
that
I don't feel anymore.
The
light was extinguished
my
body
laid
on my couch.
The
click of a lighter
can
make more light
than
a sick sun
that
brightens a dying planet
meaningless
like
the infancy
of
an actual movie.
I
have the skill to read
the
jiggles of my cigarette
in
the darkness.
I
write your name
keeping
my cigarette tight
between
the thumb and index finger
of
my hand.
In
my brain there are
words
of eternal waters
that
give life to all the rivers
while
an endless sea
gives me back life.
A
thought, maybe a love story
arises
in my room.
I
am close to climax.
Knowing
how to read in the darkness
is
a divine gift.
Which genius
sculptured
your mind?
Overtaking
the history of men
by centuries
riding
sidereal spaces
while Duncan
is still
in bed wailing.
How many
hands
attempt
to get cleaned
everyday
and night
since the
beginning of time
in the
orgy of power?
He who
washed his hands
decreeing
the death of God
and men
lost his
peace forever
and you
earthly
power
everywhere
you kill
the freedom
and the
respect of men
never will
shut down
the screaming
hiss of wind
when the
wind hisses
dreadfully
in the
nights of thunderstorms
dragging
into snow
the scattered
molecules
of your
soul.
Lady,
lady,
you may
wash your hands
until you
want.
Now
tomorrow
the day
after tomorrow.
Begotten
by a perfect mind
you might
wash your hands
till the
end of time:
the shout
of Duncan
never will
let you go.
Spaghetti
and steak.
Little
white tablecloth
like snowcapped
Dolomite's.
I do need
opened skies
to roll
my body
and feel
emotions
of smooth
and sensual shivers.
Mineral
water
an empty
glass
and next
to me
a little
apple.
I perceive
the presence
of tropical
plants
and listen
at obsessive falling rain
among green
foliage
that shakes
itself
to the
frantic rhythm
of my sweet
pipedreams
I'm not
hungry
and I never
am.
A cramp
destroys me,
while a
tepid
winter
sunbeam
reminds
me
of the
celestial rainbows
that reflect
smiles
never gotten.
Empty frames
left
with colors
already poured
onto languished
canvas
in the
temporal space
of my thoughts.
Brass handles
burnished
from sighs
close the
wooden doors
that barely
opened
to subterranean
apertures
of penumbra.
On the gilded
lake
of your
skin
immense
wings of gulls
move the
endless water of the sea
where I
dip rubbish of thoughts
that oppress
my sleep
In the night
to sleep
I must
fill my mind
with emptiness
and forget
everything
I must cancel
from my memory
the insult
of your recall
and my
nameplate
for not
having a name anymore.
Surprised.
drowsy.
You
were looking at the sky.
You
loved its light,
its
promise.
It
was a new day
and
you wanted to flee.
It
was your problem,
your
anguish.
The
rest of the world
was
so far away
like
the memory
of
the first lost love.
What
a wonder!
Your
voice on the phone
with
the day barely born.
Let's
go towards the light
you
said,
the
light is next to the hill.
A
speaker on the radio announced
the
discovery of a poet's corpse
next
to Rome martyrized
from
jackasses of the outskirts
and
probably
the
beginning of a new war.
I
kept thinking of my Gitanes
that
I had forgotten in my car.
I
didn't smoke french cigarettes
and
must get rid of them.
My
room seemed to wrap my throat up
and
my house a bellows
that
converged on my conscience.
I
could not resist
with
my heart that wanted
to
go out of my chest.
Took
my jeans and a sweater
and
went outside half naked
as
a crazy man in the fog.
When
you arrived
you
smiled at me,
I
smiled at you too
then,
running, we left.
One
cry in the Tosca
shots
from a cannon
and
that's all!
I'm
sorry, Mahler
you
didn't know
how
to wait
or
maybe were distracted
when
the art was alive.
Anyway,
your symphonies
touch
my heart
and
sharply torture
my
mind.
I
feel on my skin
the
sound of your distress
while
my pores get enlarged
when
releasing the livid tensions
that
rust and break up
the
essence of my lymph.
Why
didn't you stop at eight?
Waiting
is always like dying
when
your mind yawns
in
the silence
of
the failed creation.
Beethoven,
Bruckner,
Shubert,
Dvorack:
names
that hammer
your
brain.
Not
one of them
could
count more.
Numbers
that seem
controlling
the destiny of men
when
the thought of death
sits
down next to you
and
you can feel its breath.
It
has been hard to bear
the
voice of fear
that
turned your face white
and
your pen dropped
on
the pentagram
of
the ninth symphony:
dawn
of a tenth day
left
unaccomplished.
Sinusoidal
waves of heat
on
the forehead,
part
of the face
and
around the neck.
The
path to reach
the
destination
is
far away
always
so far away.
One
boa serpent,
a
chain
keeps
us tied
as
slaves
Too
many trees ahead
we
never arrive.
Among
lianas
I
fly over coconuts
that
look so strange
seen
from above.
The
light blue reflex of a lake
rains
from the sky
like
a celestial blessing
and
I in deep
with
my fists closed
letting
the water flow
over my
body
so sensitive
to cold
and heat
to the
breath of wind
to caresses
of love.
Without
any reason
in
a central post office
an
aged man
cracks
violently
the
glass of a closed counter
light
blue colored
as
the reflex of a lake.
Then
he drops on the floor
shouting
words
of
freedom and vengeance
without
any sense.
The chinks
of the shutter
like
thousands of lips on fire.
The
light calls back
to
life the energy
that
lives in your body
about
to explode.
Eyes
that keep clinging
intensely
to
the chinks
till
injuring the pupils.
What rests
impressed
is the
negative of a picture
against
the piteous surface
of your
eyelids closing
to soothe
the grief.
One
gate of fire,
like
a dark red prison
out
of focus,
and
the grimace of terror
being
eternally trapped
inside
yourself
are
the unbearable sensations
of
not being able to get rid
of
your body
and
flying with the wind.
Pushed
to my shoulders
also to my loins:
people are pitiless with me.
A
red stop light halts me
I can't walk:
it's forbidden!
Finally
an opened church
in the metropolitan outskirts
forsaken by God.
It's Vesper time.
I
count closely
the slow and respectful noise
of my steps as deadened cannons.
I'd like to fly
not hearing myself.
The glances of people
as swarms that buzz
around me.
I
feel observed
by all.
It is a darned sensation
to have all eyes
staring at my body
What if
a blasphemy would
go
out of my mouth right now?
Just
here,
in
this church!
It's
a thought that tortures
my mind,
a terrifying shout
that comes within me
and is out of my control.
The terror, that it could happen.
Between the sweat my forehead
and the sweat of my hands
while my body barely stands up
laid on an endless sorrow
I push out of my mind
with all the strength I have left
till I reach out the purity
of my most beautiful feelings.
Two
wounded hands
explains the suffering
of man
and in my heart
shyly
one prayer of gratitude arises.
You
were free
but
I was free too.
In
a night club
with
old friends
all
together
to
forget
the
daily frustrations
dancing
like idiots
till
morning.
I
watched him
while
he was talking to you.
Unpleasant,
with
the whiff of beer,
disgusting
like a worm
you
may squash.
He
kissed your neck
and
I was smiling at you
with
a smile so big
deeper
than a mirror
when
it reflects itself.
He
talked to you
with
his lips almost
touching
yours.
I
could see his yellow teeth
and
felt pity for you.
He
wasn't worth a nail
of
my toe
and
so I took a knife from the desk
and
cut his throat.
My
smile
blinding
like a sunbeam
into
your eyes
took
off your sight
just
when I was slashing
your
heart
without
any pity,
the
more you shouted
the
deeper I went.
When
you both were
sitting
down again
I
kept smiling at you.
I
will have always
a
smile for you,
sweet
baby of mine.
The
light penetrates my eyes
like
Siegfried’s effulgent sword
with
the evil power.
His
body became invulnerable
less
than a feather of skin
on
the human part of his clothes.
Will
I seek glory
or
only lost time?
I
will walk back
the
path of time
that
today closes
the
doors of my wishes.
I don't
want to go outside.
The
sun injures me.
The
fever I have inside
folds
me
while
the memory
of
that missed kiss
still
is bursting.
Good
night Marcel
Without
a kiss from mom
and
I recall the same steps
with
the same fear
of
missed love.
No
one will know
the
time that passes by
for
creating
this
immortal monument
endless
like the voices
of
my soul
that
still marks the seconds.
It
will live
in
the perennial memory
of
my research
and
will never
get
lost anymore.
Smell
of gasoline,
my
gear.
Two
red buttons
as
eyes of a demon
on
my body.
I
am walking
on
quicksand
that
reminds me
of
the softness of my bed.
My
hands try to cling
to
corners of a space
I
don't feel are mine.
I
must hold those darned buttons!
I
must give life to the machines
while
my life dwells
into
heart's beats
slow
and heavy
like
the steps of my shoes.
I
can count them
as
well as I count the time
left
for my life.
I don't want to die right away!
Suddenly
one
hit on my shoulders,
a
friendly hello,
an
unexpected good morning
while
shades of dark smoke
made
black my sight.
What
happiness
feeling
again
the
fresh wind of the morning,
the
life in my body,
in
my toes
in
all the fingers
of
my hands
that
now can turn on
two
red buttons.
The
workshop takes life
and
so do I!
HIM
Cry,
shout
as you like!
I
already know
she
will run to you!
I
don't exist anymore for you.
Since
he is here
I'm
like dead man.
I
could also go away
and
you wouldn't notice.
You
live only for him,
every
moment
every
fucked second
of
each day.
Why
can't I
love
my son?
Why do I hate him so much?
He
has my same eyes
and
the shape of your face.
I
look closely at the right corner
of
my window
that
leads to the courtyard.
What
is the horrible mystery
that
breaks up my soul?
Tomorrow
I will take care
of
him like you do,
not
now!
Tonight
let me die here,
let
me drown
in
this darned
cold
potage.
My
dear parents
better
you know
I
don't love to look handsome.
I
want to be unpleasant for all!
To
the hypocrisy
I
do prefer my kicks and my spits.
I
like to show
my
naked ass
in
my quarter.
I
like to see people
that
pretend not to see me.
This folly makes you afraid.
Even
the Roman greeting
Didn't
daunt you
Because
you did that
and
then forgot
and
right away
you
do it again
under
other shapes and flags.
You make me laugh!
I
like going outside
as
I am
without
a handkerchief and tie.
Kind
lady
are
you afraid of a man
with
only his undies?
I
guess you saw so many without!
I'm
really sorry
you
are scandalized
my
dear parents
but
I do want to feel free
to
give myself to death
with
my hands
rather
than falling into
the
annihilation
of
your immoral laws.
OLD WINE
I
like the blonde color
of
this good wine
sincere
and confident
like
nothing else.
Waving
the glass
is
the same as
having
in my hands
all
the sea
so
limpid and clear
you
can see through it.
The
town in the night
makes
me feel older.
I
have always the sensation
someone
is following me.
The
worse instincts
in
the night get up
and
burst into darkness
of
destroyed and snapped souls
from
the emptiness of time.
Why
do you want your hand up
against
an old man
that
smells of wine?
You
are more alone and drunk
then
me, poor boy!
You
are so young and sick
and
the voice
you
are listening to
is
more sick than mine.
Is
it my money you want?
Take
it
but
don't kill me!
It's
for you that I say this,
not
for me!
LOVE'S LETTER
My dear ...
darn,
today I can't write.
Something
is wrong.
Oops...I
see,
there
are some pens
out
of place
and
one kleenex
from
the day before
left
on my notes.
Let's restart!
I
don't feel well.
what
is wrong?
The
frame of your picture.
It
is not well placed
and
bothers me.
Also
the desk doesn't look centered.
I
get up and look at it closely.
My
eyes
like
a laser beam
scan
with extreme precision
the
leg of the desk
that
does not fit perfectly
with
the center of the tile.
I
must have moved it.
The
external mess
drives
me nuts
and
reflects its moans
inside
of me.
At
last
all
has been fixed
exactly
perfectly
like
in a family's picture.
I
feel fulfilled
finally!
Too
much time has past
since
you went to the grocery store.
Buying
bread and water
doesn't
take that long.
Why
in the late evening?
On
Saturday?
I
feel the veins of my temples
getting
swollen
and
the fire of the anger
eroding
within me.
I
wish I could see you
right
now
with
my eyes.
I
know,
I
do know
you're
giving yourself
to
him.
To
a grocer!
I
see his hands
caressing
your body
and
my ire
like
an irrepressible fury
would
overtake all the mountains
and
go through
all
the sea and rivers
of
this earth.
Ah
unfaithful woman,
you
must be back!
My
hands are ready.
I
won't let your mouth lie.
I
must save your soul
from
the sin.
I'm
here
on
the front porch
waiting
for you.
Oh... your
innocent face
and
your guiltless glance
are
like a red-hot blade
in
my injuries
the
deepest ones of my mind.
Don't say
a word!
Shut
up!
Die
now!
SAINT-REMY
Hey
nurse,
leave
me alone!
The
noise of the wind
and
the shouts of the sky
will
be enough.
Blue
cirrus and circles of fire,
I
want to see the color
splashing
on the canvas
like
the blood that splashed out
of
my ear.
Paul,
Paul,
why
did you abandon me.
I'll
paint myself
with
the ear bandaged
so
I won't feel
the
shout of pain
amplified
from my senses
that
push me over
what
I'm able to bear.
More
canvas, nurse,
more
colors, run!
The
Art is about to explode
in
my bowel
I
can't stop it.
It's
the energy that wants
to
overflow beyond the dam
of
my bones,
a
fury
that
obsesses my vibrating hands
around
colors
that
keep the same taste
of
my death.
Lonely
as always
in
the desert of my home.
In
the night
you
may hear the wind
and
the pitiless loneliness
whistling
in your ears.
Tempests
of sand.
Uncertain
hands
protect
tormented eyes
from
endless grains
of
wee stones.
The
dream of a mirage
like
a caress of love
into
the color
of
a white telephone.
The
need of a human voice
to
cover the hideous voices
of
overlaid silences
that
hiss violently
from
each piece of furniture
of
my home.
My
crazy heart
beats
in my throat
while
trembling
I
try to call
the
number of hope
on
the keypad
of
a white telephone
like
a lily of love
in
my left hand.
Sleep
my sweetie.
I
will stay here hugging you
until
the sleep
cleans
the tears
from
your sore little eyes.
How
many tears are shed
for
a little smudgy doll!
Don't
be afraid
your
dad will always have
a
new little doll for you.
Tomorrow,
when
the sun gets
the
color you love so much
and
I see your little arms
running
to me
you
will get a new doll again
really
more beautiful than
the
spoiled one,
more
beautiful than the color
of
a sunset,
more
beautiful than blue fate
but
it would never be
as
beautiful as you are
my
little baby.
Oh
still a tear!
Let's
take it off altogether
and
your glance
will
again be sparkling
like
the stars
of
your enchanted worlds.
Yes,
your
mom is sleeping now,
I'll
wait for you to sleep
while
I lay here next to you.
The last
letter
is
always the most difficult
to
write.
It
doesn't come from the heart
nor
from the mind.
There
is a white paper
and
one name barely readable
and
your pen
that
your trembling hands hold.
Your
eyes look for reasons
for
the absence of things.
It's
a voice that takes origin
from
your stomach
physically
as
a part of you
stabbing
and painful
from
an acute grief.
You
might touch it
till
you perceive
the
physical essence
of
the torments of your thoughts.
The
pen drops
on
the white paper
while
in only one word
the
last letter
of
your life,
the
shortest,
has
been written.
LITTLE GREEN DOT
Green
numbers
mark
the time that passes by.
A
little intermittent
green
dot
beats
with the rhythm of my heart.
The
white ceiling
reflects
the subtle color
that
heats the walls
of
my room.
In
the safety of warms blankets
the
coldness of life calms down
Suddenly
the
clock radio stops
and
the room falls into darkness.
It's
a moment
almost
imperceptible
and
barely you have
the
time to realize
that
the murk
is
the only thing you have around.
An
inexplicable sense of emptiness
wraps
up your body.
Your
heart is lost
as
the little dot is dead
and
it beats the time of fear.
It's
the need of the light
maybe
the light of life.
It's
strange
but
a little dot
even
the smallest
like
the little flame of hope
can
make you feel alive
like
the heat
of
a word of love.
The
sound of footsteps
without
any control,
Toes
that seems
to
drag the motion of bodies.
Dark
shoes.
Finally
an old model
with
laces.
I
keep waiting anxiously
for
a pair of red shoes.
Colors
in my mind
that
move and follow
the
rhythm of a far life.
The
sight of a grate
under
my eyes
attracts
my glance.
Just
as quick
as
a flash of lightning
all
the iron segments
have
been counted.
102
like the fever
that
is devouring me.
With
the prick of my shoes
I
touch them meticulously
one
after another.
I
can't skip any of them!
It
is a grueling work
of
patience
if
I make an error
I
must restart.
What
a strange life mine is!
Counting
always
counting
all
knowing
there is nothing
really
interesting to me.
This
night
I'll
try to count
the
minutes
the
eternal minutes still left
before
I die
knowing
that I can't
get
back in time:
life
and death
for
me
are
the algebraic addition
of
nothing!
In
a waiting room
of
a hospital
a
young girl
looks
at the outlines
of
a window.
She
is sitting and immobile
with
a fixed glance
perhaps
barely pending
on
undefinable motions of time.
Blond hair,
Pupils
like two white pearls.
a glance
that dismays you
because
it appears so far away.
On which
planets
of far
worlds
are you
going to place
your breath?
Will it
be the same air
I breathe?
Your
glance kills me
in
the suffering
of
my soul that
feels
like helping you.
I'd
like to touch your hair
asking
you
what
you see outside
but
you can't hear me.
I
didn't know it was a sin
regardless
I hid myself.
I
was only playing
in
a world greater than myself.
Even
a new fruit
was
a wonder to me.
No
one was reproaching me for this
and
shyly
I
brought the fruit to my mouth
just
to discover the taste.
I
didn't know it was a sin,
I
ask for forgiveness!
I
didn't mean to kill the Lord,
I
have repented!
I
didn't want the Mother
to
cry for me.
I
won't touch it anymore, father.
I
promise!
Just
to tinkle!
I
will say the seven Hail Mary's.
and
one Our Father.
Now
I will recite
my
Act Of Contrition.
With
terror in my soul
I
opened the duffel bag of silence
and
put in there
my
sorrows
hoping
to shut them up
I
have learned
to
put all the things
in
the duffel bag of silence
with
the delusion
they
would have been in there
forever.
SYMPHONY N.6 Op. 74
Note
by note
the infinite melodies
of my sufferings
lived as music
glide away.
And like music
I do want my voice
to be heard.
All
my life I couldn't
become
a father
until
I had you as a daughter
symphony
of mine.
Who
could ever understand
the mystery of a sorrow
that through you became happiness.
I've
loved you so much
that I gave you to the world as a gift
even if I'll never enjoy
the immortality that I give you
because I want to die before
in the deep silence
of a perfect symphony.
You'll
be called Pathetic
not for me that loved you so
but for those who look at men
with the harsh glance of moral judgment.
Good
night!
It's
the last instant of light
before
darkness.
Good
night!
The
tired refrain
of
your voice
is
only the pale memory
of
a stifled light
among
sheets and blankets
that
barely mime
the
undertow of bodies.
How
many headaches my baby!
Your
day is tiring
but
don't forget
mine
is tiring too.
Now
your breath
is
bothering me
and
I must make an effort
to
stay here.
Not
feeling loved
nor
desired
is
like reaching the top
and
suddenly falling to the floor
in
one instant.
I
approach flying
on
Chinese walls
passing
through Berlin.
The
cry of desperation
for
that which is dying
pushes
me on Babel towers
and
into the deepness of pyramids.
My
defenses don't know
terrestrial
borders
and
with my hands
I
gather the stones of earth
from
everywhere.
By
tomorrow I'll live
behind
the walls of my town
built
with sorrows
and
I will lock its door
then
I'll destroy the keys.
SEVENTH - THOU SHALT NOT STEAL
A supermarket
lighted
from magical lights
reminded
me of the dreams
of a castle
from far fables.
I have bought
one loaf of bread
and one
piece of fruit.
When I
walked out
my pockets
were filled
with thousands
of objects
that excited
my hands
with only
the touch.
I have gone
to the
mountain's church
and looked
a long time
at a man's
two crying eyes.
I dipped
myself
into his
torment
and found
in my heart
his indestructible
faith.
I tighten
it in my fingers
and then
fled.
At
a Phone Bar
a woman
looked at herself
in the
mirror of a cocktail
of sorrows.
I called
her
and we
danced
all night
among smiles
and lights
promises
and caresses.
I took
all that she had:
from her
heart through
her abundance
of love.
When I got
home
I emptied
my pockets
my heart
my mind
from poor
memories of things
that didn't
belong to me.
Taking
only the thought
that when
I am hidden
is my only
reason for living.
SUBWAY
The
smiling face
of
a person
that
I hardly know
fits
perfectly with
the
monotonous noise
of
the subway.
I
am on my feet
with
my sweated palms
that
glide on the handrail
while
I attempt to cling to it
tightening
my fist.
He
looks into my eyes
and
tells me all the things
that
happened to him lately,
he
does not skip a comma!
Slowly
his
face loses its features
and
I barely succeed
to
see his eyes
and
his lips that flutter
with
the rhythm of the subway.
Without
pity he speaks
one
word after another
like
uninterrupted stabs
in
your stomach.
I
must hear at least his words
so
I can answer.
My
ears suddenly faint,
without
any reason
I
get a beehive in my brain.
At
every subway stop
I
hope he leaves.
Finally
I see him going away
and
all calms down.
I
still can't set my throat free
from
what I wanted to shout
telling
him to stop yakking
and
go to hell.
PRAYER
In
the splendor
of
this blue sky
and
this sun
so
shinning and hot
I
give you, Lord,
my
sorrow.
In
the wonder
of
this world
I
don't find my place
I
feel like a man squeezed
from
my own sick microcosm.
Two
big eyes of a child
excite
my fantasy!
Lord,
do
not let this happen.
I
will get judged as a monster
because
of a voice
that
arises within me
and
escapes my control.
Your
ways, Lord,
are
not those of men
and
in your endless pity
I
feel you live inside of me
with
the same gift of love
you
have given to all.
Take
this life of mine
before
I could spoil
my
soul that however
is
the reflection of yours
or
give me the strength
to
be worthy of your love
so
that I can be called
your
son.
We
picked up
guitars
and blankets
and
all ran
quickly
to a shelter.
Some
little rain
barely
made
the
white slipstream
of
the moon on the sea quiver.
On
the beach at night
it
may happen you read
the
mystery of silence
broken
up only
from
the alternate wave motion
on
the heart.
We
took all
and
forgot you.
I
ran to reach you
on
the luminous slipstream
that
touched the sky
up
to the horizon.
Your
body was
dipped
three quarters
in
the water.
"Where
are you going?"
The
answer on her face
was
two tears and one smile
while
her shoulders mimed
a
sad " I don't know "
I
called her twice,
inventing
an idea for the day after
and
for other days.
With
my joined hands
I
gathered the sea
and
wet her hair
She
shook her head
saying
a shy thank you
and
I took her hand
penetrating
invisible fogs.
Later,
with calmness
along
the profile
of
mysterious phantoms
deformed
from the long
slipstream
of the moon
on
the water
she
came back
to
life.
I
never laugh.
I
don't like to laugh.
I'm
too perfect
to
laugh at myself.
My
father and mother
laugh
at me
and
I let them laugh.
I
am able to hear
the
words on their mouths
that
never would be spoken.
People
I don't know
also
friends
all
over the world laugh at me.
Yesterday
I saw you
while
you were speaking silently.
What
are you trying to hide from me?
I
know how to read your thoughts
and
those of everyone else.
They
sneak into my brain
and
transmit your sensations
that
become mine.
My
joy for life
is
pierced from your world
that
has no love for me.
I
am living in waiting
a
patient and calibrated waiting
in
the absolute certainty
of
your tears.
Someday
I will laugh
when
I see all of you
burst
into tears.
Soothed
in
the summer’s warmth
of
laid thoughts
I'm
suffering for you
son
of my love
of
my pain
of
my body.
Her
hands
never
would give you
the
reassuring safety
to
be held in a world
where
neither death
could
dab you
Son
of my flesh
as
a vulcan in eruption
from
wounds opened on my flank
where
the fire would reach out
to
the woman that stole you
from
my arms.
No
one could ever give you
the
right water
quenching
your thirst
before
you ask for it.
No
one could ever read
in
your eyes
when
you are afraid of life.
No
one,
No
one
could
ever appease your starvation
because
the food of love
is
only here
within
the heart of a mother
that
knows no end.
Usher,
screaming world
where stalagmites
fall into pieces.
Boston, New York, Baltimore
Bitter America
like a tomb:
my woman is dying here
in my arms.
It does not matter
where I am
as I'm buried alive
with the alcohol in my brain.
Two pale hands enfolded
around my cracked eardrums
are not enough
to block out the rolling shouts.
Among my pages
are the horrors
I have lived.
Usher,
I saw you falling
into thousand of pieces
into desperate shouts
while on the canvas of my mind
I painted the physicality
of the pain of my soul.
You'll suffer the sunlight
and your ears
will spit blood
at the buzz
of only one fly.
Among
my teeth and hands
I
tighten the boredom,
the
mortal boredom
of
your presence.
I
wish you could disappear
immediately
right
now
and
I wish I could find you
with
me tomorrow
learning
that nothing
has
changed.
Do
you want me
to
kill myself?
I
can do this,
Immediately.
Do
not be afraid, baby,
I
do know
you
don't want me dead
and
tomorrow you would scream
my
name till you get insane.
I
love the tiredness
of
my silence
but
I need to hear
your
voice around me.
You
don't want me
to
stay in your bed
but
you can't sleep alone.
Tomorrow
I will go away
and
will be back in the night
like
always
to
die again yet another day.
I
listen to the sound
of
Your voice
among
leaves and branches
that
only a moment ago
appeared
dumb
in
the silence of my mind.
Maybe
the wind
or
the flying
of
an absent sparrow
has
stirred the leaves
of
knowledge.
But
I just I
have
the gift to hear You.
The
gift
that
You gave me
like
a favorite son.
I
do know
the
sunbeam that
goes
through the leaves
has
the light of Your word
that
lives on my body
heartbroken
from
the
human cruelty.
Please,
forgive the men
that
will call You
sunbeam
only
cause
they don't know
the
shape of Your love
when
You come
to
check on those
that
won't be your sons.
Walking
the life
and
its roads always
without
seeing
its
end.
Just
giving a little glance
to
see the way it ends
and
discovering that all
is
in the bottom of the river
and
always beyond
your
human knowledge.
My
life
doesn't
belong to this world
as
my steps move
and
will keep moving
along
this bridge
that
connects my being
to
nothing.
My
promised happiness
is
just in the depth
of
this yellow river
that
day by day
is
always clearer to me
while
I jut beyond
towards
the dimension
of
my infinite.
Bridge
on the river
tell
me:
why
should I keep waiting
if
my life
just
sits down
on
your bed as beautiful
as
a young girl
with
her opened arms
for
the kiss
that
will open to me
my
promised eternity?
It
was not my hand
that
hit you, Magdalene.
I
never judged you,
maybe
I loved and wished you.
I
had my heart opened
to
you
to
all.
I
was alone looking at you
a
few moments ago,
now
we are many
and
the screaming of others
have
erased
my
will.
Slowly
a
sponge of blood
paints
red
the
pupils of my eyes
and
I don't know
who
I am anymore.
To
death! To death!
It
was a shout,
a
chorus.
I
was like many
perhaps
all of them.
And
like all
my
hand went up
moved
from a will
that
wasn't mine.
In
the mass
the
narrow-mindedness
bulges
proportionally
progressively
till
you hear
the
shouts
of
our deep
human
bestiality
Card
woman,
Lady
of mystery
which
reveals life
wrapped
up in darkness
tell
me who is the one
that
marked my doom.
Your
hands
move
the winds
that
have eradicated
my
roots.
Your
eyes read
my
tomorrows
hanging
to walls of shade.
I'll
give you a coin
for
each card of my time
that
you will play
and
one drop of my blood
for
each truth disclosed.
Card
woman
tell
me
who
is the one
I
shall have to punish
for
my bane
Do
reveal to me the secret
of
couch-grass
that
stifles my breath
and
I'll pull out its hair
and
then will put it at your feet:
Lady
of my doom
divine
eraser
of
my torments
NEED
OF A THOUGHT
The
amplified perception
of
my body
makes
my mind empty.
I
need a thought
to
get rid of my nails
that
scratch the wall
of
my brain.
The
more I look at my hand
the
more it disappears
till
I wonder
if
it still belongs to me.
What
a painful suffering
to
perceive the dress of skin
that
wraps me up while my hair
grievously
lays
heavy on my head
and
I want to scream
till
I stun my ears and my mind.
A
thought,
I
need a thought
so
that the fear to get insane
could
calm dawn.
The
sensation of an empty mind
can
make you suffer more
than
a red-hot blade
on
the tongue
My
God,
I
don't succeed
to
see You anymore
as
I don't know
where
you've gone
but
tell me
how
much does your faith cost?
I
will pay it
with
my blood
if
it is necessary
but
please, please
put
a thought
in
my mind.
Don't
look at me.
I'm
combing
my
long hair
that
lays softly
on
my breasts.
The
perfect rotundity
of
my stomach
is
just the sign
of
love
I
have in my heart.
I'm
waiting for a new life
which
will arise far away
from
your indiscreet thoughts
that
I feel moving
under
your breath.
My
caresses are the love
that
you all would never feel.
Arising
on
this world
thousands
of times
you
could never feel its beats
in
the way I do.
Well,
I'm
a mother
now
and always.
The
rest of your sneers
and
the arrogance
of
your speechless eloquence
are
books
I'd
never read.
Don't
look or touch me
please!
I'm
waiting
for
my own existence
to
come to life
Every
day
prosecuted
judged
and
then condemned.
The
desire of greatness
that
does not know any limit
is
heavier then the foot
of
cruelty
that
overwhelms you
pitilessly
as a beetle.
The
dictatorship of greatness
makes
the man
the
worst among all creatures
The
castle where
you
want to enter
is
closed with invisible walls
protected
from the power
of
sick minds
of
moved libido
towards
the masturbation
of
our brain
that
reaches the point
to
dare God.
Irrepressible
the
pleasure of death
of
your death
or
of towns and entire countries
grows
the mania of greatness
because
of who is sitting in the proper place.
"Joseph",
"Gregory":
surely
you knew
these
names
never
would have found
the
proper place
and
you let them arise
from
the incredible depth
with
the blood of your veins.
They
have been slammed
on
the walls of this planet
that
the sun anyway
will
cut off the life
during
a night
short
as time.
Some
writings:
maintenance,
telephone.
Let's
restart!
First
floor,
second
one.
I
must count
till
the end.
Pull
out the handle
in
case it stops.
It
is written in
many
languages
so
it must be important.
I
must keep the handle
under
my control.
The
air is rarefied
and
the overbearing heat
is
relieved
from
the light gray color
of
the metal of walls.
Gilt
hollows
so
sweet at my touch
and
so cold
like
the frost
of
my sweat
that
rests
on
my forehead.
A
shrinking
sweet
and short
as
a blow of wind.
I
have arrived
and
I close my eyes.
How
much time
do
these fucked doors
need
before they open?
A
wonderful light
as
heaven
goes
through my eyelids.
As
soon as I leave the elevator
I
start to walk
and
I want to say Hi
to
the first person
I
meet.
Ten,
twenty maybe more
turned
back to look at Mary
always
pregnant
and
always without children.
She
was always the first to speak
and
the only one to comment
as
well the last one to leave
all
the time
and
each time
all
of us kept waiting
for
her to start.
The
safe world was
in
that room
and
outside
was
a thunderstorm of war.
That
time she didn't speak
and
we were wrapped up in the silence.
Mark
kept biting
his
lips
while
the young French girl
consumed
the rest of her nails
slowly.
Absolute silence.
Minutes
and minutes
of
unbearable silence
stunned
our ears.
It
was an intolerable suffering.
Why
in His pity
wouldn't the Lord speak?
Nettie
thin
as a nail
moved
fretfully her nose
and
Luke
yet
with traces of make up
on
his cheeks
watched
the tip of shoes
that were all around
without
moving his head.
Further
minutes, further silence,
still
death!
There
was a need to break
the
silence of words
that
kept staying inside
and
didn't want to surface
to
the lips.
It
was Andrew
barely
free from jail
for
little robberies
that
pointed his finger
at
the lord
and
shouted:
"
I cannot tolerate the silence,
its
voice scares me. "
"Well,
the lord said,
it's
from the voice of silence
that
anguish comes.
Let
it speak
and
what seems stunning
will
stop.
Glasses
and mirrors
move
around me
and
tridimensional thoughts
seek
for points of escape
into
space.
If
you stretch your hand
in
darkness you can touch
the
walls of emptiness
and
feel how small the world is
among
the walls of your room.
The
tactile satisfaction of my senses
at
the touch of my fingers
are
the research of a message.
An
old seashell to my ear
yet
reminds me of the noise of the sea
and
I submerge myself in water
swimming
in the infinite
of
another dimension.
The
shout of that boy
killed
without pity,
the
desperate shout
of
one who is dying
with
the smile of death
on
the lips of his own love
didn't
stop you.
Love
and death:
obscure
points of mind
that
melt into parallel roads
where
the echo of a shout
looks
like a recall
foolish
and incomprehensible .
Three
chances for dying,
only
three
and
then life.
Not the
challenge
neither
hope nor blood
but
the sublimation of love
in
the catharsis of a dream
that
becomes reality
in
your arms
with
a young girl
that
whispers your name.
Bernini's
colonnade
was
sparkling
with
the light of your teeth
in
the middle of two perfect columns
like
your smile.
From
the other side of the square
I
was watching
your
uncertain figure
and
counted the time
with
my steps
that
measured the distance
beneath
a blue sky
that
always became larger.
A
tensed face
and
two immobile eyes
were
concentrated on your shape
while
the heart
grew
its torment
with
each inch of space walked.
Inexorable
the
sense of emptiness
looked
like it had
the
tentacles of terror
of
a giant octopus
that
catches your throat
and
breaks up your breath.
A
tired and nervous hand
measured
the thickness
of
the sweat on my forehead
and
reached my mouth
till
feeling the bit
of
fear on your skin,
the
resistance of the man
on
the unknown,
on
the unascertained,
the
vertigo of a voice
that
shouts inside of you
and
can't be stopped.
The
minimum mistake
can
be fatal:
I
am in the middle of the square
where
a fountain
as
a divine miracle
gives
support to my weak legs.
I
get a foothold,
a
point where I can lean on
to
steal a second
of
time that lacks
reaching
you.
Going
back and forth
doesn't
have any sense
A
smile on my lips
pretending
the joke of life,
a
glance to the watch
pretending
about a time
that
does not exist.
I
am about to reach
the
other side,
the
important thing is
not
to lose you
from
my sight:
unique
and sole goal
like
an oasis
of
a harrowing desert
where
the water I need
is
only in my pride and will.
I
start to see you
waving
your hands
and
running to me
and
slowly
mysteriously
my
heart calms down,
the
flames of hell
extinguish
themselves
and
the memory of what
it
has been
seems
so far.
I
open my heart
and
you nestle yourself
in
the shelter of my arms
so
lost in love
while
really
it
is I that lair in your breasts
and
with trembling words
I
whisper
in
a kiss:
-
Love me always,
hold
me tight,
don't
ever leave me –
