ferrywise

ferrywise seagulls scream around you for a hundred years
and the tides may continue to caress your back as long as they want

ferrywise it is normal to hear and bear the billion thoughts of a million people
sun after sun
and moon after moon

ferrywise radiowaves weave your ears with gentle clatter
reminding of sweet surrenders in a bedroom with afternoon sunlight
and small talk about whatever happened
to the man on the moon

ferrywise children's running screams may echo in your ears for many hours
after all is gone
and when all is back
you can look at the sun and relax

ferrywise the sea is your home
ferrywise you are alone
and crowded
all the time.

telltale

the bones of a fish dried far ago
under the unknown sun of a forgotten beach
crushed gleefully by two tiny feet
of a crazy little girl
feverishly looking for a star fish
illustrating a radial symmetry
arousing the jealousy of a tiger
that searched for a long lost friend
and in the end killed her happily
ripping and ripping and ripping
the face the throat the abdomen
barely saving the life of the fish
about to be devoured as a delicious dish
and leaving it to lie
forever on the stellar sand that say nothing
and will say nothing
to the girl running back to find her owners
with two drops of blood emerging under her feet
and from the eyes, two drops of tear following;
two for the tiger,
two for the fish.

repetition (in a good way?)

again
the beauty of creation shatters a brain
trying to reach a heart
!a TiNgLinG eLectRiciTy!
crawls tenaciously through a being;
tears of gratitude evaporate with the heat seething
of the moment that is to come:
the moment of formation:
an orgiastic spree breaks free from the crotch of a soul
as atoms of a mind and a time stick together eagerly, never to let go each other again
they fuck each other once!
and twice!
and again!
till the word gains a
gain
oh
new
oh
fuck!
a becomes you
the becomes your
and your soul is wet!
your atoms lie down
supine...
...still, waiting for somehum to come, still...
distant melodies reverberate between... your toes?
and splash!
wake up.
you should've known better:
dozing under the sun, in the last day of your holiday
is not good your head and brain.
take a shower now, and, uh, cover your erection.
behind you, by the car, your children, having woken you up unknowingly, are waiting.
and an unanswered call on your phone: your boss, probably asking something lame
again.

to life:

and now happiness comes like a soft blanket
over my shoulders put slowly by a friend

and today in the news there were photos of the universe
taken 600 million years after the big bang

now the simple violin of a song, from a hallelujah
pierces my bones with joy with the help of an &

life, and ampersand, you don't know what i'm going through but
good morning and i love you so much today!

wishnot

i ask, do you want to go up there?
she says, yes i do, but only with you
i ask, but why do you tremble, my little mare?
she says, you are so gentle...
i say, why, thank you
and she says, just hug me, will you?

...

then, she starts to cry
like a little bird terrified
of the brightness of her own feathers
in which I'd love to be hidden
and fly
with her through nights,
ignorant of us,
the tell tale shine of her wings diminished
by grandmother-smelling clouds.

O queen

thy black body
defying the whole history
of anthropology.

oh, look! um, a mind muse-

ENTRANCE

ladies and gentlemen, gather around!
and please be careful: children should
stick to the group
in case of a fire.

...

on your left, you see a couple copulating
eternally in a frozen moment;
is it a Keats poem gone wrong,
or his parents gung-ho?

...

let us proceed.

on your right, in the elegant canvas,
two trembling feces try their luck
at clawing their eyes out.
one of them looks like a fake Blake,
though it is probably his best friend;
and the other, resembling the madonna of the rocks,
is definitely his girl friend.

...

sure, sure;
we'll definitely do a retour!

now, let's move on to the carving
with the ambition to depict
the smell of his moan
escaping the lips in the dead of the night
with one hand on his luck,
the other on his big, uh, erm, duck,

right kids??

...

err, please comes this way:

oh, yes, ladies and gentlemen;

here comes the pièce de résistance:

before your eyes is a poem,
one which we may well call a pseudo one
trying to imitate the psychic wanderings of a muse,
fake the unreachable heights of poetic music,
and simulate that ancient cliche of a museum.

unfathomable, wouldn't you say?

...

now, as you turn le-

excuse me?
oh...
yes, the smoke...

huh, the fire exit?

please calm down;
it'll be blossoming in a moment,
right after you all burn
down
to crisp
for the poet
to eat.


EXIT.