POETRY

NEWS OF HUNGER     “Are inhabited by hunger. And all they tell me. It is not the fear or doubt, just a rhythm intact, that does not touch the beach with his salt. Hunger is perhaps a slight testament, or this insistence on destroying the house, and renew the stone in a dream. Little is what I remember of …

THREE INCHES OF SKIN “Three inches of skin you have sewn to life, I like a belt. The points also secured rights to, three crosses on Golgotha your meat. Is the wind, to untie me from your hips. Come fire, to burn inside a thunder. Butterfly loose powder on the wall, death today steal the scars. “ (Laura Corraducci)

PAINTING “I know that if I touch with her hand corner of the picture where a yellow blazes I would burn in it or I would have tarnished forever delirium the fingertips. “ (Ferreira Gullar)

MYSTERY ON THE ROAD “It put the light of day on the face of a sleeping man. There came a most vivid dream but did not wake. It settled the darkness on the face of a man on the move, among the people in sunbeams strong and impatient. Suddenly it became dark as to the storm. I was in a …

BEAUTY MASK “With sandalwood powder and turmeric, with yogurt and sour drops of hope watered rose water, I prepare a new face and shining for this new me. With this mask will cut off the past speckled “maybe” yellowish, have penetrated to collect residual waste, spianerò old paths unnecessary and I will remove all traces of faint praise devastating. “ …

WATER DEAD   “This is the ditch water putrid and despair, not a breath of the cool breeze ruffles. Better to throw even rusted iron and copper pieces, and without remorse even the leftovers of the meal. Perhaps the copper pieces they want to become as green as jade, and tin cans embroidering some petal peach blossom; let the anointed …

  WAIT FOR “Always, you are. The whole world revolves around incomplete words, I can write, for wait.” (Delicate Arch)

SEPTEMBER “An expanse of wild flowers, the prairie where we are witnessing the death of every spirit. And wind, dating back to distant places, even more far away places. My moan is soft sound of tightrope without any tears. The distance of faraway places that I return to the prairie. One is called Horse head, one is called Ponytail. My …

DOVES “Doves from the roof of the pagoda the petals of cherry trees fall in the spring wind. Write my song on their wings. “ (Akiko Yosano)

“Sur mes refuges détruits   Sur mes phares écroulés   Sur les murs de mon ennui   J’écris ton nom. “               “Sui miei rifugi distrutti  Sui miei fari crollati  Sui muri del mio tormento  Scrivo il tuo nome.” “On my shelters destroyed    On my headlights collapsed    On the walls of my …