THE MAN APPALLS ME

 

***

The man appalls me I despise

neither the ordinary people

nor the sizes nonetheless

they are monstrous cannibals

that have fallen here from a dark

disaster of which they have

no hope that they’ll get out.

That's true. There’s nothing to be done

and one can do nothing to the man.

He’s waiting for a fall but nothing

happens and he goes on destroying

himself with too much hatred.

He knows that he’s condemned

and his mouth is eroded badly

by the filthy erosion of the pleasure.

Out of the memory scintillates

a moment of indescribable happiness.       

THE BEAUTEOUS MEMORIES

 

The beauteous memories

go on shining brightly

with the course of time  

they begin to breathe

to live ‒ they satisfy

your appetite for food

and the sexual one

so that you may not disappear

like this, purely and simply.

THE VERBAL GAME

 

***

Gratuitous verbal game

goes into the nothingness

whizzing takes nothing

in the vortex no object

that has to be expressed,

the cannibals call it “language”

and the straw catches fire.

The labyrinth tightens

is no more the way whereon

we get lost, but the way

that is spun from the womb

of the Great Virgin  

by the power of the divine

vortex ‒ The Great Respiration

that disperses the dry language.    

THE MODERN MOMENT

 

***

The modern moment leaves her hieroglyph

on the countenances ‒ nutrition digestion

the cosmopolitanism of the foods,

of the literatures join the digestion,

it’s very hard to digest something.

The tired souls tickle their nerves,

the overworked, the distracted

and the debilitated are looking desperately

for exciting subjects, they suck each other’s

fingers desperately, for a certain bird

and the deep fatigue makes them hunchbacked.    

THAT ENTERED MY LANDSCAPE

 

I be beautiful I shine

that entered my landscape ‒

a fragment of sky in a river,

the nostalgia for some remote

sounds. It’s impossible

that we should have met by chance...

The death, the death. I should

have wanted to completely forget

how it is to walk, to live.  

HUMAN FIELDS

 

***

Human fields that I make complete

in the wind the roars and the waters

with their muffled Ancient Greece

and Rome roamed by dogs and cannibals,

I hear their feet moving away, stumbling

Quaternary corn lands inside the gold

the molecule collapses ex abrupto,

glowing atom in the technique of the sky.

On the meadows intelligent women

and the culture that they take care of

on the road rodents looking around

with a feeling righter of wrongs.

Patriotic jackasses in prose come

to grips for a joke. An oceanic longing

for all that exists carries me.    

THE TRAGEDY THAT HAS SMITTEN US

 

The tragedy that has smitten us

awakes within you the ardent

desire to bathe as in the milk

and I fling myself, too into this Zinc basin.