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He spins the hourglass
with the yellow powder
and turns again tiny between the flannel.
He points a powerful binoculars
from his high window
rotating very slowly the fingers
to focus the world.
He spends his hours to sift over the things.
He is a storage cell of leaves
keys, snakes, delinquents, teeth
of the last Scottish dragons
that burnt without matches
the thieves of melons and strawberries.
His friend are cicadas
magpies and striped caterpillars
devouring any sweet vegetables
and spitting the bitter ones.
His uniform is in the shape of butterfly
and he has no more students on his side
but distant, perhaps yes and perhaps no.
As trade he taught the language
in the literal sense of the term
and how to correct its errors.
The most similar image to him
is the adolescent who runs elusive
between the bric-ŕ-brac of the district
"Bread, love and fantasy".
Hello, Donnie, who live in the place
where the crocodiles say the truth
opening wide their cutting jaws
before swallowing humans
without shedding even a tear.
Here, where I pretend I am wise
it is difficult to have our own say.
It is necessary to go to yell
in the middle to inaccessible forests
hoping to meet mythological animals
not being carnivorous
and excellent spiritual leaders.
Donnie fords above the hurricane
with improvised means, with the dog
of a friend of the past century.
He seeks money, under the rose-colored sun
that dries bones and bodies.
Sometimes even I say the truth
ancient luxurious vice
without breaking anything around
throwing boulders over cars in race
flooding schools, museums, banks
closing babies inside rubbish skips
or killing them after the weaning.
And I would like to win the war.
I would feel more in peace.
You know the escapes in August
the chimeras
that rise ingenuous
the exaltations for some love
made from start to finish
without
any foundation
modest houses
collapsing disastrously?
Did you ever invoke the escapes in August
other impossible parallel existences
marked in the billboard
goodness knows of which splendid game?
You sleep with your best photo
in 10.000 copies beside your bed
while they float on the troubled waters
tows of ark that does not sink.
The most mattering thing
is a modifiable final version
where to put what now you want.
The player of accordion Sarghetta
is wasted by his notes
and by the shoddy wine he gulps
to resist to the winters below zero
in every square of the district "Greetings and kisses".
His dream is an America
that never ends
but he believes that it is India
and he finds again himself by chance at warmth
when he lowers his eyelids at 4.
The chill coils his bones
by now of the hardest stone.
He is almost without teeth, he stinks
but he has an attractive smile
when he stumbles pathetic on his tips
to go to scrounge cigarettes
to the weel-off people of the district "Mediocrity".
Sarghetta plays in the middle to the clouds
like a clashed bell
of the cemetery of Fiume, near the horses
that wait patiently for the grain
from a plump baby who sees it.
Then Sarghetta hides himself shameful
covering his mouth full of dribble.
I am the dwarf who collects pine seeds
when the others eat in their houses
descendant of a paralytic generation
conspiring a long time against their own demons.
When the day is terrible
I am the window cleaner of cars
blocked at the shot red light, turned off
to save gasoline in the wait.
I love an insane female plotter
who spies on from an undisturbed mountain.
With her imaginative suppositions
sometimes we do not notice the hour
and earn our living somehow more cheerful
than the ones who yawn always at home.
For this we live in the open air
and if we had much money
we would not close ourselves sure in house.
When you are born as Carina and Seccaragno
between the shrews who beat the carpets
while pork lives fry in the butter
you do right not to take infection
for air lack, contamination
of bodies modeled in a black sink.
Cut your hair with a clean blow
to transform yourself in different thing
get out of the pitch dark side
where is not temporary cobweb.
Find an important work
be the devil's advocate
it is not a wicked occupation.
Here they risk to blow up
and following the treatment with pills
in order not to smoke more cigarettes.
Curious genius, amuse yourself
with their obsessions
leaving the pains to the horses.
A cawing phone rings
in the house neglected since years
from where you escaped for freezing
and entered again fugitive in love.
Someone from the other world wants you
he insists to know how are you.
I must answer that you are grown
that you had some setbacks
but you gained your advancement
just as expected.
He would speak with you
because you are much famous
and delegate absurd relatives
who spread you to the four winds
between who investigates gossip
on the exact date, expired
of your sanitary card.
A perfume comes from the kitchen
of life that continues, by the side
of the death always in front
in the room of my parents
where mommy attends the dad
like a child who does not grow anymore.
A dreadful love holds them together
sublime, perfect song
that is good to my heart, breaking it
parsley on potatoes.
You have grown an alien
without knowing who he was
and here for you, old boys
a flower from Saturn, one from Venus
a luxurious bundle from every planet
with the omen it would notnot wither
but a black out of the firmament.
They found the prophet
charred over a poor camel.
It had left from little, in solitude
leaving hotels and exclusive schools
to found the schism of the scallion
destined to scatter itself on the earth
to command world without end.
They will follow him for a little
crippled of talent and blind with rage
until one after the other
will die without leaving any traces.
They found the last hero
of the bunch "continuous misfortune"
his teeth, the uncertain DNA, the beastly hairs
and there was no testament.
A feline look, egyptian divinity
and the signal of life and death
traced for little on the left hand.
Amadeus hawthorn grows with me
and we escape from the brotherhoods
from the nobles fallen into disgrace
from deconsecrated temples, from the bouffons.
Please, give alms
at the side of my road
after all I find myself here for you.
Don't let me fill up of ants
leaned to this church
that hides one thousand corpses.
There is no photo that reproduce
the phantom seated at the Cathedral
in search of an employment
between the workshops, the ancient occupations
the saints who pray in every language
the devils defeated by so much bliss.
It's a good day to be virtuous
and you want only to eat and drink.
Be ashamed of yourself!
The luck does not fly on your neck
because you have a too much alive spirit.
You promised to your mother
you would return on the school desks
to pretend to be more ass
of the professors straight on chair.
Where at night the restless bats
spread their wing that blinks to the conifers
in the day there is a kindergarten
a nurserie a little touched
showing her hypothetical future
while she yells and kills lizards.
There is something in construction in that place
a plot in the shadow, almost as if had to
rise again from there a new animal
after the deceaseds, after the flying spiders
and few amusing humans.
Who knows what image will want to give them
a little reflective nature
ready only when it does not sleep
to destroy and save at random.
The outline of a strung bull
in top to the small village, the district
in party for the secret society
and the patron who smells of ring
nutella, pancake, candy
electoral afternoon snacks in the open air
with the good men reading newspapers
scarfed until the ceiling
for fear of the Asian flu.
The statue of an acrobat
still in life, around for relations
public and private, best
to have cups, pelouches, medals
artistic to the civil valor.
Hurray the district of the freedom
to hang theirselves to the largest oak
listening to a sprightly motif
barrel organ of the little old lady, roasted chestnuts
games, balloons, trumpeters.
Country of toys very dangerous
toy soldiers of tin and of party
hunting squirrels on the Collodi mount.
Exhibition of an armed peace
pens of false Indian and burnt sugar.
Ronf, ronf, short nap
at dead of night, wide awake
to dream past and future
extraordinarily logical.
With Christmases nonexistent, Easters impossible
as poodle and tycoon
towards the polestar
breaking the enclosures to the boundary.
When it the day is born you wonder
how to celebrate a golden isolation
while the others face loyal
futile pestilential torments.
You thank the civil death.
You meet the thriller, the horror
already seen around your house
trembling like a leaf.
At dawn you read in net
what happens far away
Ronf, Ronf, short nap.
Dress up helter-skelter, wash your teeth
before coming back to watch the city.
The uniform you wear is religious
sole, very original
out of fashion, according to the weather.
Between homely celebrities
you are transparent, fly
tapestry to the weeping-wall.
Ronf, ronf, is the comical name
right to the ones who sleep not much
who wake, shooting life in their vein
poisoned by the heartbeat, the breath.
There is something in this season
of purple haze in concert
that narrates of a fortunate birth
burnt in a moment, until here
surpassed by a stealthy step.
It would have endured the enclosure, for this
the memory is such windy
to take away with himself all the rest.
The boredom of a sudden portrait
vanishes with the confession
forgiveness of a fault never had.
And a peace, a satisfaction
deposit themselves somewhere
to the fall of a fruit to land
not yet well matured.
I am the dumb American
who travels every now and then
inside trains full of fleas
with now open, now closed eyes.
They grew me in another country
with other language so sweet
that I would have made myself adopted
but kind is the idiom
and crossed to any effusion
all the staying around world.
I took the just attitude
exterior, balanced with the inside
and here I am mute and American.
Strange that nobody mock me
like in front of a tv movie.
They fear my true part
that leads me walking
mewling or impudent
like Tom, Oliver, Alice
to a place much far away.
I am an automatic translator female
I interpret the spiciest foolishnesses
attributed to fool American mute.
At every festivity of the dead, the same in every village
he suffers from hallucination of the great army
and uses me like drum, tam tam
down by the steppe of the human wolf
in the season of total nightmare.
Otherwise make good use of me
I am his voice and his ears
a thought translated quickly.
Only sleeping you can dance
a weird tango you are unaware of
with longer step, and someone
settles you on earth with care.
You trust blindfold while you die
and your body is set down slowly
then again put on your feet.
And you are alive, with your elegant father.
Then another exotic outline
a lot larger than you
leaves you to your lonely destiny.
From which would have I learned that tango
in which I mistake only one step
hearing the music and the stranger.
With someone I would have experienced one time.
When I am daydreaming
I hate that dance. I know the steps
of the waltz, the swift turns
that we could well do alone by ourselves.
Ducks, chickens and some stork
to cure, to make still fly
babies without games and cakes
shooted by obsessed
in war, explosions, apocalypse.
You put on the white mask
that howls in front of the mirrors
and your Halloween arrives unexpected
a lot before the divine Christmas
but close by a birthday
that marks a back-fire
with all the stories you read
that frightened you for feint.
Don't you remember them anymore?
Good course, omens, jokes.
Sometimes if id did not hurt
if it was painless and without thought
the death would be quite accepted
better than an inane life
like there is so much, too much around.
Sometimes it is necessary to think
to develop a great task
impossible to leave incomplete
otherwise you are not able to go out
from sleep, from torpor, from pain
for how life goes on
and you would go, up there.
We are right not to consider a lot
our skin, our breath, our walk
it gives you a wrong force
that then serves at you, helps you
to be less indecent
as human, wicked in spite of you.
First there was a rag clown
hidden behind the cabinet.
Now the whole world ball
seems to me a circus without discipline
under the awning of the horizon
in long await to be sold off
to come back to the unknown place
where everything was originated.
I do not know if after we will listen to
a pure hymn, solar
but now there is big frenzy
to escape, trample, listen to
yellings of wild rhythm, silences
only after unexpected devastations.
The clown pretended to laugh
struck down by mother nature.
Now it has a ripped sneer
and looks astounded to the ceiling.
It has not more a gram of heart.
For those of the district "Total abandonment"
he was "The Nutcracker", the dancer
of the old silent cinema
the sound track of foul hours
french bugs with popcorns burnt
while behind they killed themselves of happiness.
In my rude memory
he took the subway of Paris
and vanished towards the first beach.
Really he was an alone man
he had not even an animal
and perhaps now he floats passive
before the seals of the river.
unrecognizable lost Russian.
It's not said that he is dead
he can be so, in regret
of mother Russia, of the ancient ballet.
He didn't expect what he found
In the land of Plenty.
European puppet theatre ruined
dead calm wind, ignorance
on solid medieval walls.
It's the time of insomnia, sleepwalker
who grope with the hands, unsteady
to be happy with nothing, free
charity to yourself, stranger.
You can stay to look at a leaf
whirling on the dry branch
or to move quickly on the road.
Don't go anymore to the old mirror
where you see only dead friends
or enemies who took the leprosy.
Don't rest on those benches
cut up with pencil sharpener for boredom.
You can stay small small,
noone could see, could seek you
but do it for spite
and enjoy the assets of the sleep
so real that they never vanish.
It's a bad thought, Florentia
that governs what I see
close and far away, that spreads
from Arno in flood, over brillants
for fiancčes who kiss themselves
at the windows open on the water.
An old man who seems Da Vinci
aims his dry forefinger
on passers-by laughing unaware
and go to the Cathedral to touch the stones
so attractive to make crazy.
Incredible sight blended
pitilessly to the present days
eats my heart out, confuses it
like when we disguise ourselves
for carnival parties
and we drink strongly until being unwell.
How it is possible that just here
someone could make wonders?
It's a bad thought
that goes around implacable, corrodes
more than the rage of the time.
You turn on the net, the radio. Waste your daily
amount of oil, diesel, light.
Recycle paper and batteries between the litter accumulated
behind the sunset of a stale sun.
You sheltered yourself in a photography
but you should do others, a lot
stamping them with spit of dragon.
Fragile Chinese. Sensitive, calm man
is the Indian. Different, opposite
to the sullen vehement Scot
bad, sometimes pitiless.
It's a pity that he is not be of my age
since I seek a fac-simile
on the square of the free games.
They say that there are no more men
around, neither at east, nor at west.
Noone speaks anymore in Latin
and the modern Greek is not Greek.
I am transparent ambassador
of an exhausted Europe, overfilled
of processions with hysterical whiners
who stole silverware.
Continent with low pressure
that no doctor is able to lift
because its past gilded
from a perpendicular ray
murmurs tiring fixed words
in a ruined phonograph.
"Everything goes on, everything goes, be quiet".
And attacking highwaymen
of the raising bridge sneer
sharpening enormous trunks.
Do you know what is behind you
on the left and on the right?
Look at your the shoulders.
Mariangela with star on chin
took cheerfulness to the funerals
excellent company in the marriages
before coming back to her family
Naples, Italy, continuous tragedy
weighing, grotesque parody
of a prison with bars of butter.
And the star flew away
to seek a place along the avenue
even so small, down there
between the overseas big stars.
Jannes grew in Hamburg
spreading advertising leaflets.
He left the kitchen of Clep
and the neurotic tics, the poultices
grass and stolen firewood.
And he grew in the fear
between ugly snouts. From three years
he arrived at seventeen, hardened sly.
Now he is sapper, fitter
of tiring situations
spy of himself.
When his time will arrive
he will reserve a vacation to the sea.
Hang in mid-air in the forest
I feel myself soberly useless.
I am doing an original trip
and this time I want to see
where they will let me arrive
the obese hooded men, hidden
under musk, with mushrooms
and parasites of plants.
I will explore the zone
I will take the right precautions
of the distance from the sun.
Monster still in circulation
warning! I have fervent imagination.
At all the rest of the world
knows me as free amusement.
The foreigns stabbed inside the station
and the trains did not leave anymore.
In the blink the notice board of the hours
the computers between the secular soil
with a scorpion that stung the travellers.
When two trains in front of me
crashed frontally each other
I decided to escape from there
but I was not able to do the ticket.
Meterological forecasts
did not promise but catastrophes.
I took on the fly a high bus
vanishing, swallowed by fog
and when I arrived in top
someone put on my neck
a damaged crown of myrtle.
Here the poor relative
who pisses still in bed
beggar who acts as boaster
the one who noone wants around
because he laughs too much, he is always cheerful
he lives with the remainders of the others
and ingenuously thinks of himself
he feels himself lucky
free to say quite right
at north pole and at south pole.
There is also him in this world
we cannot but count on it.
You meet him every so often
when it's bad weather
don't change immediately road
don't turn to the other side
because at a certain point
of your life therefore respectable
you could need him.
Look! He is the poor relative
who does not hate you and not kills himself
and not even understood
he belong to a family
but he is the dog, the pigeon
or the biggest rodent.
So pleased to be alive
that sooner or later he will be killed.
We go only. Come on, sublime musician
to the meeting of the country house
because I believe in you, as you believed
in the faction, in the free brothers, heroes
who in cheerfulness helped poors and talents.
Rally the old witnesses
if you still preserve attraction for the one
who plays weighing your light notes
for the fake president, four bakers
the mask-poet woman, the architects sommeliers.
It's a solemn anniversary
and they convened the usual bestiary
as throw of fruit and vegetables
over the periphery theater box.
If you showed to them, quickly
they would throw you out
mistaking you for a beggar
who forgot to stay outside
at the sides of the secondary entrance
calm, waiting for charity.
When performance ends
every evening I hide my face
to say in the clear silence
that I was the one who killed
every part of me that does not answer
to the continuous loving appeals.
And I play enough self-assured
to seek company in the night
running away on wheels and tracks
behind mirages so much obvious.
I go out in an imaginary metropolis
without tricks, restless adolescent
who chases with amazement, uneasy
the things shifted by the others.
With the taste of being original
at least for a short journey
incurable megalomaniac.
Not else but rags remain of us
recycled, washed thousand times
that will please who needs them.
Full moon burns away
another endless night
in which it is born and died.
He is sincere, he don't remember how he was
when he did not know, did not walk
but behind perfumes, tastes
until the flood of the great river.
So easy to amuse oneself! Dust the merry-go-round
turning around with long webs hung up.
How many time passed
since you awoke sleepwalker
and you were not anymore in your room
against the sun, with the faces of patrons
met at the fairs, in church, at school.
In the tenth childhood, he knows.
Changed the wandering theater
and you are curious to study the moves
most calibrated, the most complicated scripts
sliding on the quiet water
nearby the seals ambrosia
where a dyed fauna flutters
that seems yoy must notice.
Planetarius carries jaunty
the adored box of the tools
a handbag with the vices and the virtues
of an explorer he must make
still like always in formation.
In the ninth childhood he wrote large
and they did not see anything the same
he learned to do the difficult f.
He was capable in household economy
like now, he was someone in the air
blown forced within a false cloud.
He mended worn-out slippers
and gloves full of holes.
He became so enough rich
but together to the strange beauty
of the poverty, the white halo
sparkling more than the diamond.
And the net ate his neck
put out acoustic and visual carcass
infernal torment of wait
needy of line, of current.
He cleaned up the floor with frozen water
and sawdust with stinks of fat.
The staircase lead upwards
where his brotherhood lived
that kidnapped babies in secret
plugging yells with cement.
Skeletons were everywhere
of strollers, empty carriages.
A sinister room of the hosts
waited for the treacherous nun
with turned-down nose, crooked mouth.
No doubt on her vocation
to be revenged of the cruel nature
of whoever risked there
between hands coarse of bleach.
The nun of the bunch
who licked love wounds
with vitriol, with boiling oil
while her nazi confessor
sat for an exam on God.
In the alley of the precipice I drink
and in the one of the night I do not hope anymore.
When I arrive to the alley of the dawn
I do not hear more complaints.
I ask myself who I will meet today
who was not more than expected.
Perhaps the unhappy toothless.
Oh, there is noone I like
I am compelled to pretend, heart
and one day you will not beat anymore.
Happens to have fear of to sleep
even to a licentious libertine.
The pen and the glasses are me
in the open air, as soon as it warms.
I cling to a sad virtue
that I would end suddenly
for work of some mystery
or of the usual careless fate, or merlon.
10,000 masks in row
are the faces of masters
presumptuous against wretches
goddess with sweet nipples
grains of ripe grapes.
The temple blew up
and noone will be more able to pray
under your 10.000 arms.
Stretch an imperturbable smile
on the earth oppressed, on the villains
remembering you had been been mother
in a very distant time.
If you should do it, destroy too
someone of the masks useless
to himself, to others without face
who want to stop your hand
your untiring soul
although the human whim.
Perhaps tomorrow will jump all
the 10.000 masks in row
but the grass will rebuild your temple
with solid roots of creeper
and someone will revive random
along the wake of a star exploded.
Who drew the improbable dream
where the clown rinsed his wig
becoming a serious person?
Seek rather where it is the monster
among you, migrantes. Stop him
since it does not want that you eat
and sleep in the centre of the perfect nursery
near the church without cross
or invisible that it is, athwart bells
where the clapper never played.
Creaks the pole of the flag
while we lose at tressette.
Abandoned farmhouses
For easy earnings. Phantoms wallowing
in the hypothetical dead calm of the vice.
From the bridge overloaded of gold
I seek you, reserved and frank father
and I ask as you were, how were
between all stupid rabble.
More than nose, I think
you had a glib tongue
that you expected way by the powerful one
like did the nervous musician
adored in silence from someone
at that window now closed.
When I am peaceful to the sun
got smaller from greatness rage
I haughty scrutinize my time.
You had also an excellent language
in me remained little abundant.
Nightmare is not but the day
compact sounds, lights, faces
whipped spiritistically backwards
images set in a puzzle
that you will not be able ever to end
since lacking the last pieces.
The evil is overturned well, and vice versa
and you laugh or cry like always
according to what in that moment
more pleases you, deceiving the pendulum.
You are running to shore of 4 rivers.
the largest one is the most unknown
two of them you supported absentmindedly
and the last was only born in your lands
dragging you towards and backwards
first to the seals, and now to the source.
The wise would say that water
is your essential element, zodiacal
but then why are you not able to swim
and you would die alone without rescue?
Like the land you need some river
to be next only a little one
and of to know that close there is the sea.
No need that you escape like a rabbit
to the other side of the traffic light
so much so that I would not greet you. Better to follow
the weather forecasts, to sit in train
with the Indian child near without turban.
Friend of the classical high school "Plinius"
now lawyer not too famous, but with the fat
like the psychiatrist of bulimy and anorexia
seen with throat at the local tv
or the third secretary of the capital
with the swollen chest behind the capoccioni
or the friend mufflered as Palestinian way
July, August and black September.
You do not remember more who you were
the letters you signed willingly
with the unmistakable red star?
You fear me like of a shadow
of a reliable witness, bothering
a foreigner that observes well
the places by you colonized.
Go on in your embarrassment
I shift myself with tact. You contracted
the virus they took in the road
the ones glued to the electoral posters
to the gazebos of the neighbors
to the aviary on false grassy mantle.
Journeys in a train of piss and shit
from the place with the red tower, the yellow church
the raising bridge surrounded by the marshes
where they threw the shouter Saturninus
between the frogs to compose sonnets.
Train with surprises of little account
seekers of cards, airy idealists
foolish farm workers, thieves, drunk
arabs with handbags, disgusted gentlemen
of long time ago, that has to return.
It arrives delaying, big braking, skull beat
at a walking pace until Santa Maria Novella.
Here are well-known graves, African rejoicings
chinoiseries, east-Europe already walking the pubs
shakes, photos, pizzas, cigarettes
the poodle philosopher and the one of party.
Here, takes again the drunk train, at evening
yawns on the bridge, passed the English cemetery.
"Life is false", thinks the guru
who never went to Sorbonne.
Television screen is painted
with large faces of three clowns
reduced to poverty by the electronic circle.
They try to put right the handgrips
with long long hands of rag
but they do worse. The threads got entangled
and the two die choked, tongues outside.
Someone paints a grave and some flowers
for the poor wretches, then
paints other three smiling large faces
who try to speak tight lipped
since their mouths are sewn.
Nothing is heard. I am without soundtrack.
The films are elsewhere. We can paints a ball
therefore we watch the soccer game.
Now they draw ground and players
but only the ball is moving.
You should imagine the remainder
since we live in this way in the new world.
There are no more idiots standing
to press on the remote control
nor newsvendors of this or that bank
to sell quintals of bills
and not even their great artists
used like pieces of draughts.
The dwarf with the athwart cap
begins to remanure the ground
and perhaps we will come back to eat
chewing with the teeth without trembling.
Goodbye large faces, masks, asses.
The red car made up
limps dangling in climb
towards the closed factory. It failed.
The workforces do not exist anymore
all, all dismissed. Go,
put the pot on the fire
get ready the boiling soup
since is walking on staircases
the dead lady widow
and has a heavy burden
under the Flood
this wind that does not stop blowing
and shakes strong the trees.
It's nightfall, there will be a funeral
stand up, get ready the final banquet.
Useless empty diaries, expired names
in the hydrocephalic land
with the cup to the crazy sent
to receive the honors of the poet.
Commit too every wickedness
after all nothing belongs to you.
Tell what pleases you more
after all you do not exist but for feint
In a space capsule dispersed.
Breath in the perfumes you find
blended to yous portraits, the true ones
that the others continue to deny.
You make rinse the teeth
to those who speak too much
awaiting to be the passengers
of the last carriage in the pitch darkness.
Well, send them packing
after all you come from the space.
It's sad to be without law
outlaw in spite of the wing, cherub.
I do not know how you will do so to grow seriously
with kids and criminal everywhere, shouters
of a system putrid to the root
gnawed by worms big like fingers.
I had a lot, you nothing
and I wonder how will you do now
licentious Ačrio, son of others luckily for me.
The ugly humans crowd at the stoplight
european charlatans, rowdy easterns
lowest fellows of everywhere, from steppe to desert
never seen before desperate age
exasperated, exhausted by blasts and bombs
by strikes to go to die
between dirt, idiocy, stinks.
With indecent music, deafening
that lost neurons, hormones
the wonderful whims of March 21
between the hate of September 11
and the funerals of March 11.
Oh, was wonderful my rock
with the blood to the head, to the thighs
every time before Easter
since before they put the gems
and the animals kissed each other mouth and bottom.
So is love in spring
until the inviting warmth.
I seeked a secret confessor
but I found another person
a guard to the aquatic circus.
Then I grew in a second
throwing myself in the middle of a road
like activist of the prophet Slow
the one of the last reality show
arrived quite soon to terminal.
So is this land not mine
one time here, one time there
badly aligned by its powers
on the only board of "all against all"
or knelt down to the new altar
In the invisible etruscan reserve.
The important is to observe it at distance
not entering into the stable of the pigs.
You gave the wrong vote, in the hour
in which the rubbish heaps cleaned Rome
with enormous deployment of means.
Go to seek it now, if you meet it
together with rinds of water mellon
in the district of the students in party
who never study, because they
are the artists of the incoming century.
They will renew the great party
of the more than stormy tops
they will refound arts and trades
blowing the trumpet. The mass
of great-grandchildren in march, from small sight
of the aunts in the good parlor
to take the, play bridge
before coming down to the club
with the last puppy on the leash.
Oh, a delight of artist, a possessed
the new secular genius
to beat into the center of the doily.
And you, poor devil, who wanted
only to study statistics, go
to dig between garbage
but not to find a vote
given to the imaginary party
that does not exist in the official lists
compelled between Josip the good communist
and Josip the football player in the stadium.
He digs to eat, to dress
like the poodles do, pardon
the clochards, he is French, he is refined
one of the languages of rich Europe
that takes its infamous votes
puts aside its money
into bank, in safe, as they say
to give them for feint to the poors
and then take again them, spread them
in gigantic Turkish and red parties
demonstration of a democracy hook
at the doors of the sky over the past.
Over the park bench of the communist league
going out from the multihall of the Real Socialism
in the desert of the fixed consumptions, I steal
toilet paper from the loo of the world
like one who does the dead hand
and deceives who appears in front of him.
Pleasant these moors of Mortello
of the old man by now without hood
going for a walk with the centennial friends
leaned to Moroccan servants
under the lodges of the tuscan architects.
Everything goes on, also them. The Monte de’ Soldi
the etruscan boxes hidden underground
by shrewd provincials who counted for much
one time more than other progressives.
Here because beyond incense without church
burns acute in ether this taste of east
a story ended into delicatessen.
And there are no more votes to give
nor cards to do. We cannot do but jumping
on the last carriage in bulky gold
driven by the king Porsenna in person.
Go to say the little girls
to get rid alone from ogres
because you are occupied. You must participate
to the last parlor game
in fashion on the Arabs.
Its name is unumpronounciable.
Go to tell the children
who fight against their stomach
insatiable grumbler, he wants to eat
not politics, Europe, Asia
but a rotten sandwich, also enemy
insipid, without anything but bread
secretly in order not to to be killed.
If Allah is so great how they say
he knows this, get him help us.
I was here for myself. I should not see.
Since some day I knew
I would die. I disliked it
but didn't depend on me.
I hoped still, when I blew up.
My coffin is in church
in the center of Urbe, blessed.
I
They elect another president.
There are not balloons tied to the thread.
The puerto rican flies with the bass
from the coast of the bottoms to the wind.
How many countries in this world! Nightmare
then large laughs against my 15 years
beaten to the hard wall of Berlin.
President, Inquisitions
to weave the excellent cloth
that lasted, easily arriving
from building to palace.
You were already embalmed double-breasted
Stock-fish as Nobel.
Long queue at luxury hotel.
It's the right day in the capital
with popish audience, forming of the government
and the dwarf with his glorious hood
in trasfert to favour.
II
I am here to bray
from Korea when it was bad.
My voice is atonic that quite suits
to an enormous pollination
louse more, louse except for
louse in flight, louse to land
poultry close to you, to me.
Live from Montecitorio square
that awaits for new cuffers
between paper, flash and gavettoni.
Go finally, dear father
hand back your soul to God
and He will let it go out from the Belgian mine
from the one of High Savoy. He will cook potatoes
With scrambled eggs as you liked.
He will load the small coffeepot neapolitan way
and will drive the car for you until the sea.
He will pick carnations in the fields of France
He will collect tobacco, will dry it in your place
He will do the insurances, giving you percentage.
You will go in movement to the old box factory.
God in person will detach tickets in the Gallery
where are exhibited the evident proofs of his existence.
Father, I will gove your finest shirts
to the one you know, you loved him.
I will continue to take the sun also for you
to tease who plays bowls
to love thrillers, detective stories
without understanding who is the guilty.
I will please extremely the animals.
I found my country, that already I sought
when you had full mind
and you knew that risks I ran to climb
the boundaries of our humble caste.
Near your stone, dear Mimo
your white, rose, red roses.
Those orange ones die with you
and don't be angry, if with mommy
we will take care of your garden as best we can
minds conceited to the garden.
Rome is always there waiting
for every your weakness, every fallen
behind hypnosis of stone elephant
and in the days in which it loves you
makes you forgive the most dreadful things.
It looks at you, fiction of perfect actor
wraps you Mammon, extralarge size
like knew every secret quite hidden.
It lets you see you what a filthy mess it's got
the wonderland
while you studied and took your mind off.
The vineyard of the prodigal son is destroyed
and the good one has pleaded guilty.
A burka goes on with thick glasses
and you cannot see anything
hoping it is only walking cloth
Belfagor escaped from Louvre.
Instead you are in periphery, in Tuscany
and soon you will reach Gomorra
if the train does not derail before
towards the towers of the past
the funerals of state, your tables
of law visibly wasted.
Hush! There is the insular child
barefoot, with black black feet
who speaks to merlons, to magpies
to the low tropical clouds
over the mediterranean trees.
In his favour is the yellowish climate
sultry sun that got sick the others
and made him dance like a puppy
just wet of cosmic saliva.
I enter in net under his name
with the other me, the one without nations
who will be always like she was. Also after
the one who drove mad in life
godmothers and mothers housewives
criminal potentials, witches
ugly things of any period and place.
And myriads of dwarfs with the handbag
on the circuit of the hunting to treasury.
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