Prose
» Romanesque
» In a wild state
» Catherine Wheel
» Seven Sages
» Recreation
» Mandala
» Wandering riders
» Sabba
Poetry
» Beyond curtain
» A love poison
» Plautinus
» Blind world
» Plancton
» Jack O'Lantern
» Giotto's pastels
» Mab
» Preludes to Lutin
versione italiana
english version
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Stand by the plants that have the fate
to drink crystal clear rains
the most wary animals with the man
and, luckily, the moon and the sun
in the boundless and vacuum firmament.
Some born beauty from indiscreet looks
hearts in war, carefree senses
that judge more than every law being in force
the human act, disgrace or noble that is.
The perpetual roaming of the elf
lands to the serene night. Goodbye torment.
The powerful men seem shoddy actors
to whistle to, in order to make them leave the platform
to the animals of the zoo.
It is difficult to follow a star
from the planet of the pieces of glass
that sparkle until to blind
myriads of enchanted human beings.
And yet I consume my shoes
onwards and in down for the world
to the search for the exact trail
sole, reasonable, chance.
Sometimes my eyes burn
in the effort to avoid for road
the dust and the ignis fatuus.
Not always I succeed to escape
to the lights of the rites, of the myths
of the Christmases and of the carnivals
that rage at Baraccopoli
between the restive of stone and coal
with the predatory birds that fly upwards.
My voice arrived to you in the darkness
like thin loving threat
that you immediately answered with the rain
from the whimsical and cold beach.
The free love that nature
grants for excellent whims
cannot be deceives but for a little.
Every appointment already is written
it does not grant delays, does not jump.
Like a trap, it flies off
when bothered you sigh to the wind.
I travel in suspension
from the region on the dead platform
to the large general warehouses
where goods and moneys are gathered
with the bodies and the souls of the shed
always open, in perpetual movement
to eat, to drink, to sleep
going to Mass off and on.
What will happen from today to tomorrow
to the ones who stay outside alone
and cannot pay nobody
to come back within the wall
that surround the infernal workshop?
Traveled with anxiety of thought
traced of berries and flour
from the country to the iron, to the stone.
And appeared to me an immense phalanstery
at the east side led by the science infused
at the west side from suptuous monastery
with the citizens peeling rosaries
frightened by a sad crow
by now since long time in putrefaction.
The traffic lights were all reds
so I didn't pass.
I tried for across streets
to reach the staircase of wood
that it is climbed with bare feet
and is extended quivering
until the soft celestial beard.
From there I eyed hardly
the acute beat of the shutters
executions in the squares
large general strikes
the processes for savage crimes
in the bannered phalanstery.
If you search the door of the tribunal
where to invoke justice in the world
avoid the wigs of the Palazzaccio
and advance yourself into the old marsh
between twigs and stones sunk in the time
thrown from innocent hands
and collected from the stagnant water
like the hard sword of Camelot.
The wise owl repeats the verse
that knows the truth, the law
and a flame shines unexpected
for the crimes against nature.
But the light lasts an instant
then you will not see anything anymore.
Then you will have senseless sentences
that will last a whole life
accepted, followed, acclaimed.
Patient go behind to the round eye
just half-closed in the torpor
and believe always to the marvels
if you do not know the marsh and the owl.
You will sink less hurriedly.
I visit, as host of other tiems
the crib of my cathedral
where I fell at land in the incense
for the time late and cold
and because I missed air
of the frosted shinings fields.
I enter and I go out from the catacomb
always waiting for an unusual gift
in the red diffused light of the fire
that licks a pale room
and holds me awake, still.
A body in a long skirt
comes down from the photograph hung up
smoking a strong cigarette
and smiles not to let them see
with headache and breakheart.
She shakes her young mane
she suffers in the quiet park.
Then she comes down in town and get drunk
with bilberries and wine. What a sin!
A so attractive girl
envied from the clouds in sky
wasting herself for nothing, between people
obscene, ugly, satisfies
that harmony lose charm
and triumph the amorphous wisdom
of who waits only the death.
Dressed to party, another body
is approached and invites to the escape
the one who for a little is alive silver.
I was sad in that photograph
of a spring frozen
and comforts me the warmth
of this new age, without heart.
Childhood, infinite body
indistinct panic being
you end up in for little, but come back again
after the flood, the idiocies of the sex.
Underneath to my eyes
the photograph becomes coloured
and the skirt of an ancient rose.
Flees away the black carriage
with the wild racehorses
that noone is able to hold.
Transparent, it overwhelms every thing
every empire, every contrivance
splitting the glass alarm-clock
that continue the enchanting click.
I underwent a filthy training
from the rich that exploited the poor
and from the poor fixed with the moneys
the cars, the gigantic television sets.
But in the darkness I saw still
as had been the ancestors, and the land
not disfigures, it was much attractive.
Its music, the sacred writings
ended in company of the mice.
I began to love Europe
before the crazy murderers
the wicked avengers
the martyrdoms in search of troubles
for the too existential boredom.
Caronte breaks the chains
and returns me back to the boundary
where goes over crazy
the black pitiless carriage
and discharging every passenger
there, where he wants.
Smearing for banks and lowlives
or visiting without understanding
the by now exotic countries
of glorious and vanished ancestors.
The attractive life became a hell.
I would kidnap still Europe
to drag it towards Crete
like I made in disguise of a bull
when I was only nothing but a god
in the moor of the airy templi
where many believed that the beauty
were powerful like the war
the nature and the wisdom.
Jack-o'-Lantern turns in the void
devastation of the human beings.
it has itch at the ear
and scratches his big toe
and hides himself not to be seen.
When there it is too much noise
he invokes the still fairy
in order to suspend the life
at least for a couple of ore.
And he chases the perfect peace
like a singy elf
that always has desire to laugh.
"What helps so much apprehension
skeletons that dance in the wind?
Rest your bones for when it will be useful to you
and learn to get used to the idea
that noone will be able to escape".
So cheerful resounds
the little song of Jack-O'-Lantern.
A white little girl with the crown
hides her garments in the empty closet
to put on them in the next twenty years.
Before she will cross the Atlantic ocean, then the Pacific
and the Indian, because their names are resounding.
She will be a little gypsyand a little delicate
she will do fear for joke like a Liescii
and then she will be dressed of leaves in air
removing gracious the trouble
without some effort, or suffering.
She will be amused in original manner
looking only what she likes
at the high and low parts of the body.
She will pack always alone the suitcase
and will enjoy of every friendship animal
temporary and fantastic as she is.
It is this that I wish you, little old girl
recovered laughing from trichloroenthylene.
Sometimes I emigrate, me too
to a place where I do not exist.
For a little I clear myself of my weight.
Ah, what a relief, brothers!
There, I meet the one who plays with the catapult
and reads Aristotele in a breath
leaned to a desk cut to bits
to sculpt tragicomical scenes.
Above there are binoculars and hourglasses
and goes for a walk a lampblack merlon
that pecks the crumbs of the cakes
with healthy early appetite.
The weird man smokes like a Turkish
he sleeps, works, sleeps, works
and he is for me an ancient teacher.
There is a guascon advanced to the river
who lives of air and of sky
and has cut his scalp by himself
to enjoy himself a new show.
He saw rising from the iron water
the people of the mute cinema
in the fog of Paracelso.
While sped like resonant balls
the cars of the president
those of the football player and of the law
in house they frightened the children
with millions of televisions lightened
packed of coffins and of flowers buckets.
The soubrettes stretched the thighs
towards the doors of the senate
and the politicians with the red scarfs
smoked the pipe of the peace
playing to run in ring-around-the-rosy.
Then they fell on the road
staying victims of the ambulances
that ran for broke
driven from Slavic and cossovari
from romeni and Albanians
just coming from the central bank.
The walks-on move themselves slowly
towards the lights of Via del Corso
but noone could see them.
Only the sole one witness
and the animals in search of food.
As phantoms with the ringed eyes
they did not know quite to recite
but they boldly tried
to explain theirselves with spacious gestures.
Perhaps they wanted to recall
the shows lost in the time.
Every day they butchered the pigs
and after licked themselves the mustache
for that zesty meat.
Someone with delicate stomach
hung himself inside the stables
and who wanted to command
dressed well and perfumed himself.
The professors were quite little
and rap on the knuckles
or they made kneel
above the berries of maize.
The students arrived at school
after hours of open country
and they snored with open eyes
with the foots mixed of sheep cheese.
The peasant with the hoe on the rut
was not of any place
and not any place was his.
Both of an enormous Pantagruel
that by now stole openly
from the abbeys, from the ancient castles
arts and sciences that was unaware of.
Also then there were monsters
dwarves, troy, frantic
pieces of shit and idlers
and more they were, more it was the pride
both priests and nuns to pray for them.
Oh, poor girl of suburb
without toeeh, horribly dyed!
yyou are outside fashion. The cat dead to you
And noone wants you in tv.
You neither are successfull, nor mobile phone.
because ugly, you have obese sons
and this summer you go away from the urbe.
If you arrive to the sea, drown yourself
so they put you on the newspaper.
"Here she lies Tamìa with the dark blue hair.
she had not money for false teeth.
The life toke her those true".
Who fears the filthy war
heats himself around the fireplace
and performs the rosary in the half-light
nailed by sublime thoughts
and by comforts accumulated with ringworm
until the peace of a clean grave
with counterfeit jars of geraniums
and lights eternally lighted.
Jack fears the wise faces
of these clever and greedy prophets
that nourish themselves of other people's misfortunes
without even lifting a finger.
They seem good and quite arranged
but if they lift the coat
here vampires, lice, scabies.
They please the fresh blood.
"I saw a man with head hanged
tormented with black pitchforks
between the people gotten lost at market
that yelled the price of the cod.
And forward, above the manure
to rise a people of invertebrates
supplied in the smaller details
to creep like earthworm".
The arsonist of the tower is dead.
He had curious sights recurring
on the past and on the future
but his present wandering
leaded him to a bathtub
to cut himself cleanly the veins.
Without him, there will be out
a lot more persons refined
in the squares, in the roads of the center
and already the Country is transformed
into exquisite wedding keepsake
to open with thrift.
They replaced to glory
also the tower of the bishop.
The young Europe is here dying.
She does not feel more from an ear
and a witch of the Cornwales
sprinkled her lip of bubbles.
She does not taste anymore of coffee and chocolate
But of garlic and fried onion.
Two old persons court her
that they do not see to an inch.
Her rebels are lame, maimed
and they do not make barricaded anymore
nor cut crowned heads
but they are always to spy on
who enters to the customs.
The nostalgic of the old Berlin
go hunting of bats
exchanging the night and the day
the beer and the wine.
The palaces with the lighted candelabrums
fall into pieces like false edge
and like such are again glued
to their bizarre facades
with the big masks and the treacherous dragons
that burst their sides laughing.
The elfs of another world
write with very large characters
a tombstone of gold and stars
while they visit the catacombs.
You are born in a belligerent country
searching for virgins in the Eden
between hairy wrapped up men
that resemble at the devil
and perhaps they are its sons
when they fight in name of the father
making explode their intestine
to do crown of the paradise with it
and to eat like the pigs
fattening for disembowelment.
Opposite route of the animal
that, more wise, scratches about in the yard
and devours at a guess.
A wise mathematic had no followers.
They preferred him a potted
a lot more like your people
innocent friend, bearer of water
who live at the angle of the road
and are more cheerful than the crew
my people to the I defeat.
With the tongue and with the sing
we have both renounced
our origins between them similar.
When a storm arrives
I look you selling umbrellas.
I want to die attractive
I saw too many horrible bodies.
The ambulances play strongly
calling continuously from the other side.
I want to rub the death
tracking varied infallible methods.
I will pass them in review satisfied
and it will yell with anger.
my friend jesuit says
that it does not matter him anything
because he there not will be
to see his death.
He plays Socrates, but lies.
It is better to be attractive, not disfigured
when sister Darkness calls.
The time when I experienced to let myself outside
I washed myself and I perfumed well.
Now, before going to bed
I do myself attractive for her.
It is a cosmetic world, made up
that it will be expanded in the time
or will explode within itself piece by piece
piercing itself in the planetary void
In the deafening silence of the sonar.
Deep waters without fishes
with unexpected flashes of blind light
drowned in the dark blue that becomes darkness.
It is an athletic world that flees
where the human is a cartoon
that entrusts more and more its thoughts
to the celestial air, in order to let them stay
At least for a little beyond the meat.
But it is delightful, waiting for the disintegration
to consume wine and little cakes
to smoke a cigarette forbidden,
and to look at the historical monuments
that resist more than their creators.
It is so aesthetics the human existence
pleasant stay in the sole Eden.
Let it not be ever a hell
moment after moment, with extreme patience.
It transforms the monstrosity in laughs
to hang up in a wall only.
Let all of the remainder be your life.
It is Valentine's day.
No massacre by now.
Hidden in the cavern of a palace
I put back my glasses in bag
while went out an old man and a young girl
Hand in hand, like engaged.
A dark car of chocolates
awaited them secretly.
She laughed coarsely
because wanted to attract attention
in arm to the money and who knows what.
Ahead, at the jewelry shop Cartier
quarreled an old woman and a boy
to gain a piece of gold.
Laid to the walls, near the bitch
sleeping with the dopey of alms
I admired the importance of the human
and what he does in an only day
to be above the stage
foredly left even from the powerful men
pulled for the hair in the pit.
Now all at the party, to prepare
a peace treaty with the murders.
And it is still in fashion to show riches
to buy, or to sell off the beauty
not to possess anything of truth
In the double pocket of the soul.
The door of the dreams is opened
to a solar ray of dust
sloping on the severe solitude.
You scrutinize it with feverish thoughtlessness
finally net in its edges
framed by the thick petals of the roses.
It seems a Walt Disney movie
and you are rather pathetic
with the photograph of the country of the heart
attached to the armored main entrance.
You want brand-new friends
that speak in another language
or a son on measure for you
directly from the book of Kipling?
Bite the tail to a comet.
In Trastevere a witch miscarried
the magnacristiani of the smoky tavern.
So today there it is the funeral to river
with the big world behind the little dead.
"The best of Rome" go away
the pieces of a whole country
thief, defame, indecent and cracked
qualities returned excellent
signals of a deep personality
that gets off always, although all
and survives to the rest of the civility
of the laws, of the immense works.
This is the quarrelsome blind Urbe
that killed a painter near Campo de' Fiori
that spits on everyone it's able to do, drunk
and licks the bottom to the powerful, rich men.
My America is not the one
of Franz, of Kurt, or of other
that speak my language
but are from me the most far.
My dear continent
is the one of the poor irishmen
of the brutal European scoundrels
escaping for corporal needs.
Of the native ruthless murders
of the Indians, and of every half-breed
there born for mistake, or for fate.
I am mental son of its rivers
the wide ones, with the big shrimps.
Huckleberry Finn I went
to seek as a tomboy.
Armed only of fantasy
I wet myself in the cheerful ocean
and reached the free bays.
It is my curious condition
gilded and ruthless together
never in place in noone place
it is my respect of the true
that it does of me the adopted daughter
of an America extreme and platinized.
I heard that I would disembark there
with my small vices
the trifles, the manias accumulated
the ridiculous millennial qualities.
The ocean will sweep them away, laughing
with the belly swollen of wind.
An imaginary opium cherishes me.
I sleep, and dream with open eyes
the life that I would live quickly
like a cheerful and crazy robot
that it stumbles continuously on itself
but starts again in the twinkling of an eye
and inexperienced tramples the things
left all around from the past.
Every monster met between the humen
vanishes with the sun of the dawn
Like vampire swallowed from the sun.
I see them with the dribble to the mouth
appeared to spy on me everywhere
but I have not more fear of them
because I know they will not be able to touch me.
And soon a little I will forget them
when they will fly riding the dragons
towards a remote time, irretrievable.
Then beaches and laughs will come
enormous harmless spiders, crocodiles.
I will walk protected from the enclosures
along a river that seems the ocean
and Ib will sit in the shadow of the evening
asking something regenerating.
Lantern within the yellow pumpkin
that neither extinguishes the north wind
the snow storm of the two poles.
Always ignited lantern for the dead men
waiting for being remembered
by their murders at least.
Glad reddish lantern
among the rising harvest
where the crows low flying
seizing anything coming under fire.
Corpses or bleached flags
shimmering jewels at the sun
forgotten by who knows which rich man
in the fury of escaping far away
from the incoming stinking clouds.
Jack left his lantern
everywhere he passed, dressed as soldier
disliked by every aborigine
jealous of his energy
scared by the power of the fire
that he governs from millenia by now.
Every continent has lanterns within the pumpkins
but they all own to Jack
because he doesn't fear the darkness
and sings, instead of crying
after every human tragedy.
You run, otherwise lose the train
of the special offers at the market.
Go behind the shortest queue
buy almonds, do a pot pourri
that will perfume every your thought
while the others fall to the ground
beating the teeh on the floor
exhausted, and with wallet empty .
So it is the planet Earth.
Learn to fly off like a hare
at every enticing recall
tramplesevery obstacle that you meet
and in the evening, try to close your eyes.
Isolated from the rest of the true world
the one that goes on steel threads and dreams
between ridiculous songs that play emptily
48 hours of Saudi Arabia. Total desert.
Filthy flags of lies on every window.
I will fight my war with pigeons and crows
in search for the damned daily bread
while the full moon illuminates like usual
the infamous scenery of my planet
emptied of criminal mental hospitals
with the human phenomena to amuse
to throw kisses and crown of cardboard
on the dead that breathe still.
I want it climb defeated towers
I want to die me too, for fool.
With a quick beat of wings
Morpheus is quietily
at the end of the land.
He smooths his skin like velvet
regenerates the forces lost from the runners
and let have a maggot in their heads
that carry on the right road.
The fears that I dream go away
as I never experienced them.
It is therefore Morpheus the large one changing
the powerful that transforms and breaks
remote memories and curses
and even the life in the most fortunate?
It amazes some wonders, to be awaken again
with the mind to the hypnotic script
and to turn slowly the kaleidoscope.
Are too little the hours of the night
above all in summer; they do not suffice to play
the cantatas that rise unexpected.
You are with the wide open eyes
tired to have to do with your angel
and a lot often with your little devil
or with those few little puppets of the day.
How many menacing colors, pastel
You should put out in the short darkness!
I passed quick in the ancient road
thinking that I were not on shoot anymore
and I went to see an empty shell
the house of the moderate projects:
work, family, friends, sons.
Already I was disappearing, when
the statue of plaster of the urbe
was angry with me, and a finger broke to me.
In the dream it seemed to me the forefinger.
Now which is the right direction?
To put nest on the highs poplars
following the tribe of the birds
or with cardboard to do a little house
like the ones of the babies in garden
and of the poodles on the shore of the Tiber?
If it had a river of money
I would enter and I would go out from the hotels
and I would do only what I am
for my amusement and to be in company.
"Demon from the nature dancing
peeled round eyes of shark
devour this place invaded
from its own insanities, from blind babies
fat, that carry bad luck, governed
from horrible adults without brain
distracted from the vague shadows of the day
that they pursue without knowing why.
And leave your flute, the pirouettes
for graceful unaware youngs
provided of wings and fine song, like the merlons
because they could still live
In the mainland, and for sea".
Nerone, drunk until the marrow
pursued clouded thoughts
Before the fire of Rome.
I met again François
the Moroccan that speaks a hail of words
In the sunken country from the malt.
We took each one to arm
like two old compares
and we went in a round theater
to peel regretted and talents.
He came from the "Mille e una Notte"
hidden between the treasuries of Baghdad
incredible kingdom of sultans and pascià
with the attractive concubine veiled.
He was torn out the hair, thinned, nervous.
There were ever been players and snakes
in the east of the flowers of lotus
open in an imaginary day
instead of monsters shriveled
from the explosions of the human bombs?
We are two defector soldiers
that dance the military march
kicking a boogie-woogie.
Our East is blundered
towards west. The wind turned it.
The hours, the months, the years
are supine to take the sun
in the black and gross sand.
Near them are, besides the wave navy
to the right, an obsessed old person that smokes
and to left, an old white alchoolist
who eyes everyone goes and everyone comes.
Then there are the stones flowerd for charm
and beyond the river, untiring and sad
same route from a whole life.
And many animals of every race
from the expressive eyes, uncertain hosts
of the weird urban dreg.
I rumble like the hero of a cartoon
for this thirty of miles
between yawns and laughs, pauses of pleasure
unexpected escapes, dreams and awakes.
The village of cardboard and crucified
passage of an infamous colony of ants
is burning down. The lady of the hens
saved in a hurry her pochette.
It stays a bucholic picture hang to a nail.
escaped from the guards of the zoo
swims to mustache onwards, a nutria
with the wild-ducks around, very astonished.
Me, in a bath-tub for fun
overturned the fate to the ground
red destiny with black points
that doesn't want to ascend on the fingers
and flies random, here and there.
Thin ash on the water
Karim will pour, with a tear
for having stopped me a minute
towards the palace of the warriors
of the athletic and lyric competitions.
What remains of your strongholds?
Any relic, any riches
rescued from the time and the life
is in the graveyard next to the church.
Oh, civility exhausted from absurd rites
to preserve a sporty car
to your great-grandchild daredevil
acephalous, illiterate pumpkin.
How many doors closed with bolt
in order to don't send him to pick up tomatoes
in place of other, awake and vital
native poor, outside from your age!
It is useless for you to light swears
to close yourselves in the last refreshments.
You have now the power to count
for the modest jack of trump.
And if still there it is out someone
done not oxidize to the hollow on the airwaves
don't let him touch even an ant
but jump from the walls more highs
forgetting the carelessnesses, the lotteries.
I am the lantern within few pumpkins
of the land shaped like boot.
Mistake every thing, until you are in time
don't make anything right, do
what is forbidden from severe laws
that agree the mere badness.
And stop where you cannot stop.
There is the pure force of the life
coiling, total like the loves
little, irreversible, lasting
like fireflies, vanessas, rose gardens.
Be always wise in your way
in order to make breath expire the most possible
in a light body, flying off
accustomed to the movement, to the grasses, to the air
to the water and to the morning breeze.
Hope in things that you can obtain
in a day not a lot far away.
Accept these digressions from me
teacher of the books of school
paralitic mathematic, irregular
a memory for you wandering
with the unstable residence.
Don't go away, Jack
still it is soon. I do not feel myself
to fix the advertising playbills
with the big masks of a time that was
and to stay alone, in the middle of the nothing.
I am here, against everything the appearances.
You leave me stunned to dream. Ehi, Jack!
I am long to you. Come and take me
when you will finished to save the planet.
In the meanwhile, give me the globe
give me the atlas, and a vocabulary
of new turns of phrase
The same things that always I said.
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