Night road to life

 

It’s night. Well, for me it’s always been a little ‘night’. Even at noon. Even in summer, when the sun whips the breakwater rocks that protect the beach from an angry sea. Angry, hitting back against the brutal, careless intrusion of men.

Even then. Even now. The night is a cloak that covers not only the sky. It envelops the earth, trees, rivers, or the dead, ready for burial.

 

The night envelops souls.

 

And my soul has never done anything to throw off its dark shroud.

 

 

I drink. Well, I have always drunk a bit. Even when I had company. As friends we would run about laughing, joking, lending a serious tone to a jumble of illusions. Sandy ridges landsliding in torrential rain.

Even then. Even now. The bottle is a vessel that contains not only alcohol, water, fruit juice or urine for analysis.

 

The bottle contains souls.

 

And my soul has never done anything to find the exit from its labyrinth of mirrors.

 

 

I’m on the road. Well, I have always been partly on the road. Even when I had a house. A family. When there were parties, dinners and singing under one roof, lit by smiles or doubts.

Even then. Even now. The road runs not only for cars, for goods or for animals going to slaughter.

 

The road runs for souls.

 

And my soul has never done anything to hate the loneliness of asphalt.

 

It has travelled with a selfish and obsessive love. Possessive love. To the limit. Until the road has reached summer, friends, home, family. Life itself.

 

 

 

Waiting for the rain

 

Anywhere. I'd recognise the golden cloud that brings rain to a meadow of stems and maidenhair, cradled by a salty breeze.

 

It arrives unexpectedly, like a tropical storm.

It rains shiny droplets, like the sun's rays on waves.

 

A storm of imaginary diamonds filling the ether, nights of roses and silences.

Passions and fears.

 

Under a cloth-white horizon I'm eyeing the sky, looking for the golden cloud.

Waiting for the rain.

 

 

 

Hyde Park dreaming

 

I was walking in the park

listening to the wind 

singing among indifferent trees

looking at the gushing fountain

that spits at workers and tourists.

 

I saw an orchestra conductor directing nervous honking at an intersection 

while clouds of smoke enveloped the road.

 

I saw the white horse that jumps on the park chess board eat his queen 

and fly away, clasping the black bishop.

 

I saw the minotaur run from the fountain to the bell tower of Saint Mary

injuring his head as he knocked at the church door.

 

I saw an alcoholic drain a bottle and stand up to offer a flower 

to a wounded woman, dragging her despair on heels.

 

I saw the tears of a caterpillar, forced against the wall of a dark chrysalis 

squirming, desperate. It didn’t want to become a butterfly.

 

I saw ...

No.

I turned around,

I looked for you

You weren't there. 

I left.

 

​

 

A Laspe of memory

 

In a lapse of memory

I found myself

 

staring into an unknown mirror:

a forgotten face

an unlearned name

an unnoticed scar

an unfelt pain

a not launched slap

 

a gun I've never had. 

 

 

In a lapse of memory

I found myself

 

accosting, in involuntary acts:

lips to a love

a glass to a bottle

a sigh to a passion

a sleep to a numbness

a smile to a pain

 

a gun to my heart.

 

In a lapse of memory

I found myself.

 

I shot.

 

 

 

Ghost and gun

 

Shoot!

Hungry ghosts

living in the limbo

of Samsara

during circus time.

 

Shoot!

A ghosts walks among no dead

and those who do not breathe

obsessed with what wasn’t found

when the hands of gold gleamed.

 

Shoot!

Those ghosts who loved you

transforming blood into absinthe

shedding tears of incense,

burning flames of no sense.

 

Shoot!

Avid ghosts didn’t wait

when lights covered you from the darkness

planting seeds of pain,

speaking of love.

 

Shoot!

Pious ghosts now smile 

for masters disguised 

as queens of the night 

accepting coins of words.

 

Shoot!

Ghosts:

her, you, me.

Shoot ... shoot ...

 

 

Lost in the abyss

 

He said hello

he has taken the step

I know, I saw him

I met him

he talked to me

I was alone 

I was walking in the streets of imprisoned madonnas,

supplicants

through the windows

closed for the evening

lit with candles,

as in forgotten cemeteries

where there’s more beer than prayer

where ghosts circle

like drunks on a ship

in a stormy sea

thinking of the smiling bartender

who pours out desire,

distills jealousy,

empties the bottle.

There, in dew’s infusion

torn petals fall 

uprooted by edgy tears,

by suffering words

tenebrous

like the sea at night

where he lost his mind. 

Into the abyss he entered, 

he swam, 

and from that lost land has returned.

 

 

The silence of the wind

 

In silence

the wind blows

through the crowd.

Again

 

in a dome of noise

in a vacuum of voices

mixed in tone 

in language

in coarse laughter

in tears dull

in eyes and on lips

in beer and spirits

 

in spontaneous happiness 

as a new bottle

in distant memories 

as one never finished

in known words 

as one already drunk 

in deep pain

as a filled glass.

 

In silence

the wind blows

through the crowd.

Always.

 

Venus Eyes

 

I was painting dreams on a canvas of beer

looking at Venus’s face on the digital wall.

Observing the sea

in the universe of her eyes

I heard waves caress the water’s edge

felt salt pinch the skin

saw the moon paint deep silver blues.

Blinded 

I was lost

then drenched.

Finally I woke

and you, Venus, you were there

in front of me

as real as

the sea in the universe of your eyes.

 

 

 

Supernova

 

A light dance in space: 

your eyes,

your face 

in the blood

of a star

as far away as a sun.

 

A shadow across a flag: 

waving alone

cold in a volcano of moonstone

that burns 

under a cloud of smoke.

No rain falls. 

 

Me, you, ghosts

dead pirates lost,                 

darting flames

ice frozen in space,

a comet pierces the planet’s face

a fire in a black lake.

 

Dark

look look look

Hot

run run run

Bang

scream scream scream. 

 

It's a dream

as lived

on the lunatics path

in the loonies park

staring at the last

supernova star.

 

 

The loneliness of the glass

 

On the marble table  

when the last drop evaporated,

the glass was found alone 

faux

dried 

cold

matt.

 

In the shadow 

of desires unable to fly,

hypothetical thoughts stillborn 

stuck in amber

constricted in a bottle 

half full on the bar.

 

 

Eclipse

 

It was night and there were clouds.
He waited. In silence, he waited.

 

Timid stars broke through the dark cloak.
He walked. Slowly, he walked.

 

The moon rose, bright between the eyelids of the night.
He ran. Fast, he ran.

 

The eclipse began. All was dark.
He fell. Suddenly, he fell.

 

The night passed and the sun awoke.
He was dead. In one eclipse he was dead.

 

Red Lantern

Red lanterns dance in silence.

The wind blows

from the north,

a seagull rises in flight,

an opalescent image, yours.

A smile, a look.

Desire.

Again silence,

the wind,

a sandstorm.

The seagull disappears

between shavings of cloud.

My soul is there

between the grains.

Sand in the sand

intangible.

Red lanterns dance

in the silence.

The wind blows

dissolving my illusion.

 

 

 

 

Lights in the night

 

Then one night I met you
in the reflection of the houses,
whizzing fast
colouring the window of the bus.

 

I saw your smile
in the glare of headlights,
shining tears
of rain on
smog veiled glass.

 

I touched your lips
of salty damp
fogged eyesight
covering our
cold silence.

 

I heard your gasp 

of pleasure
in the creak of a seat
jerked forward,
the driver braking hard.

 

I tasted your scent
in a sea of sweat
velvet
your skin stained by craving
like a damaged seat.

 

I savoured, 

you felt, 

you touched.
I saw you …
go away
indifferent, 

distracted.

You disappeared
as the lights of the city
gave way to early morning.

 

 

 

The last rose

 

A rose fell in a glass

 

floating on ice

surfing through rum                               

mingling with my thoughts.

 

Your form appears as a drawing

impalpable

as the flight of a bird

inconsistent 

as a message in the sky

blurring.

 

The rum vanishes

like the rose.

I never bought you

but always wore for you

as a precious ring.

 

A rose fell in a glass

 

withered on ice

marinated in rum

drowned by illusion.

 

 

 

Me and You

 

I’m in you,

you’re in me

as water gives life

as the sun heats life.

 

Our souls wandered

in the dark space of time

to reach the shrine of a sparkling destiny.

Lives after lives

lies after lies.

Attracted to a gravitational joke

that knows no distance

nor any border it passes.

 

Moved by a perpetual motion,

together our souls will dance

into the zodiac’s romance

accompanied by the planet’s orchestra.

Between vaulting sparkling comets

we will live eternal moments.

 

At the end of time

found in sweet night

embracing us,

we’ll fly

with silent stars

illuminated by

an endless flame:

our love.