Si aprono i colori del quadro sensitivo
con le luci inebrianti scaldate nel pastello
ed il cuore legge con tono emotivo
in lingua materna la legenda del castello.
Le frecce affilate delle zanne affamate
che si rifflettono nel loro vero specchio
si sente il odore di gocce profumate
e ancora il desiderio di un amore vecchio.
walk with me into the polar night
cold is the new heat
didn’t you know?
you like to watch blood penetrating the snow
do you want to touch it?
the climate will change
the oceans shall rise above our chins
and turn our fur to white
the sun shall linger under the horizon
patiently restrained by strings of darkness
the sun shall never come up!
et ce lieu qu'ils appellent temps et
ne coule pas
lave indifférente
refroidie immobilité
temps pluriel
temps autour de nous
temps en nous
irréductible
espace d'un temps
entre nous et la lumière
Motto: "There's a little girl's voice that sings lullabies in my guest room closet but don't mind her; she died years ago. Here's your blanket"
the night squeezes moon juice into my dreams
and I lemon my way through thick syrupy words
going round and round above, in my head
like a dotto train
ding ding ding!!
(Luna-land here, everyone off!!)
fantasies of the weak
begging like potato chips in a bag to be crunched
at least once
in a commercial with a second hand banner and no pride
I was wondering if the scarf made last year
feels warm and soft to your neck
holding above the chin I have bitten and kissed
or
if the Victorian blanket I knitted
covers well your knees
the ones I caressed when they were sore and bruised and bleeding
or
if you’re still listening to
the carol I sang in a lower key
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