between oneself

sun rises falling
he lives

sits there
commode chair

bed that or cross
between oneself lives
the third one

first is a crowd
on a commode chair
stands above oneself

sun falling
who knows what it is

danaïdean day goes on
stands above oneself
up – down

lies – hiatuses all around
horizon – hangs

as if unable to rise
but no look

rises sitting
dissolves once down
stands he that is

between oneself guest

suppose you’ll have
to say – die
this way
or that

to choose
too late
how just now
to start
at last
at long long last

to choose
now in another way
to live
or too late
or the same thing
or no way at all

how to know
from a candy wrap
where starts the song

didn’t know forgot though
didn’t live but lies all the same


wouldn’t wish would you
be in his place
well at a long long last
is it late to live in another way

or the same thing?
still you’ll have in some way to say
let me go
I don’t know I was not there
why should I mister I would like to know
I beg your pardon mesdames messieurs
I’m here as they say
from another town

and it stares still
as if whether you were there
or said not a word

now says
anon in another way
and respond
do you really think
that’s the same thing?

to choose
or too late?
or no way at all
just now

ah how to know
anew in another way

lies all the same and can’t say


or too late
and still you will have to

potpourri blues

holed wood
sound of knuckles on the box
that’ll be me chair
to sit for a bit
when de long, cold
wheeee in the steppe

to sing for a bit
bottleneck on the one
and a leg to the ground
Mississippi drum-machine

o mamma moanin’ wind all around
light up that old Filipino-box
when de long, cold me home

when de long, cold day goes to rest
that’ll be me stove there to cook

to a-wait for nothin’
see nothin’
hear nothin’

wheeee in the steppe

getting pinched for getting bored
behind the black bars to bide
rollin’ on the floor on the empty steppe
and my blind lad hanging on a string
well his wife will
when de long, cold
will sing sing

sunday empty house holy holed day
on a dusty road weaves a song
oh dark was the night cold was the sun
black chain dapper dust sings

sandpaper skin
tobacco-stained palm
yellow rusty tear in the eye
when de long, cold years roll away
that’ll be me ground there to lie
by Venetian midnight silence
veers the cold and want of home
though there is none – inky heavens
call with luring stars

torture of approach in silence
in the dark of others’ countries
then misleading warble enters
through the wooden crack

on the bridge bride’s shadow ponders
gently knocks on wooden narrow
night is silent – three nails glittering
there – three rusty stars

eyelids full of ocean nacre
open by the bulging ceiling
go out in Venetian morning
risk another verse

motionless with closed eyes stand there
half-face twisted grimace grinning
waiting for the skies to open
eager nacre skies

golden weary call of mainland
dissipate in dreamy cerecloth
on the palm – profound and sharpened
thin trace of a jamb

for running out of Rome at sunrise
half-bidding farewell to the staircase
in floating bed you’ll wake up choking
on wet rag of the air

no good to sleep on bony crossroads
you’ll realize it is the morning
and get up silent from your bed

you’ll make two cautious steps around it
and leaning helpless at the doorstep
you’ll call for gift of silence

there’s no escape from chiseled air
from double t’s and r’s there lashing
like waves upon the lips

the curtain falls in Cannaregio
Maria’s verdigris veil trembles
the eye led by old Lanci’s fingers
to altar flies through stony veins

there you stand plighted to the ceiling
beyond the wall sea beats its fringes
on slender legs – transparent – singing

stars speckle gold on shady snowdrift
of sky – black rain cuts marble trembling
threads spread upon – ruffle – meander

remember only chamber coolness
casket-like thinness – lessness – naughtness
dry peals of mountain chill…

but then again the call arises
above the sea your head bows splitting
again – Pamphili garden – columns
cross-shaped cuts in the keys

Venetian Trio

when they're there
nothing to say

they're gone
words gone

wait on a steep stair
for their return

that's how the song goes
the song of woes

if they return or not
none knows

you've waited though
now you're old

who can know
if you don't

* * *

only the ash alone melts as the snow does
only the dust cools down
loses its form to embers into the dark of the nook
reason it gets cold in the house whenever they take out
a bucket of dusk in the morning to get going

reason the stove gets cold is because she burned and burned
all night till the moment no one came back and she packed her bag

reason the mud moved under the snow when he trod
trod and still – as always – the earth outlived him the winter outburned

only the heart alone melts as the snow falls
floods the world with spitelessness and the city says
nothing is going to happen today nothing in any case
cancel the buses on lines 3 and 10 ‘cause of snow and – you know – glaze.

‘cause first comes the whimper and then half a year of cold nook at the walls’ end
eyelids of box-grooved iron brazed over the rimey eyes
clatter of words oh another don’t say that’s another shine
and the chilly yes and the icy yes and the silent yes of the skies

* * *

happy to announce
my pleasure
what a feat


cross my fingers
doing great
then wait


need a test
but no worry
so to say


we’ll look it up
it seems wait
no a shrug


you just sit there
it’ll all work out
mister don’t shout


next year
on vacation
well yes


sun seems
at last comes
earth would groan


no sinks
hint of wind
door squeaked?


squeaks or screams?
god knows
ah dreams


seemed close
instead of those
all this



I will thrust my head at the wormy apple of sky
had to knock me down on my shoulders and wear me out
for them there to start wagging their tails sucking the air

new moon stumbles in sleep like a shot down sheep
blindly forcing its way in the bramble of night through the boughs of stars
bleeding white falls behind the horizon – and fades away

exit horror – like that – in the silence where stars are spread
exit horror of life that was stolen and poisoned by dreaming
house poisoned by guest that won’t leave

I am telling the ceiling – forget and be quiet as long as you can
staring straight at the past where the horrors exist
I am turning the radio on and my eyelids are split by the music

* * *

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