sea doesn’t get tired  
 
 

finding itself sad, furious 
 and the clouds from the mountain with it
 -bunches of thunder vapor
 horses- they fly offshore
 
 this sea storm is mine
 mine are its roars,
 mine its sheets of foam
 repeating themselves like holy exchange
 of saliva
 in a moribund Greece
 
 this sea storm is ours,
 it looks like your forehead
 -sea she-wolf mist
 salt suspended-;
 or like laying on a moist bed,
 to the rest of thighs
 crossed like swords, corals
 like algae then |
 
 has brought on land
 any kind of debris,
 eating the flesh of my mind away
 leaving the flaccid part exposed
 like crab-goblet open wide;
 it smashed bottles
 softened glass, rocks, shells,
 it barked and hissed,
 it enervated carcasses,
 diluted sewers.
 
 another Autumn came /
 and yet another Autumn dies on me -
 I can only -
 report things -
 manifestations -
 performing those to my temples only
 with someone else’s voice
 
 -the feeling of being ill
 as the feeling of being healthy
 interrupts me |
 
 sea storm is itself and itself
 only,
 only fishermen should pronounce about |
 
 it leaves us this manner,
 moved
 by masterfulness of exhausting;
 by perseverance of an entity
 with no mind at all
 but alive
 more than anything.-
 
 
 Trezza 12 October 19

______________________________


Viale

 
 the streets of my savage land
 always smell like
 meat and neigh,
 hot oil,
 lemon on blue fish /
 bony and barked war


__________________________


there were many springs / impossible / avogghifàri
 

 how much ink 
 how many 
 turquoise thoughts 
 I devoted to you
 
 how many tangles and dogs to the throat 
 how many moist gazes 
 like exact wings 
 
 and on the meantime, 
 how less 
 my hands reached,
 how less I entered inside you;
 how I like
 Venus 
 how mild
 I am.
 
 Yet, 
 I always smile 
 like I’m crying 
 or like I’m about to carve 
 a knife 
 out my pocket /
 and again, like I’d see 
 -in the idea of me smiling- 
 the most revolting abomination, the slowest- 
 a child of the craziest
 (my happy face, 
 disgusts me from forgetful whole of time)
 
 yet
 I’ll cease thinking about you 
 when flowers will start talking 
 when the sea will transform to blood, 
 when -having become a beast- from my eyes 
 I shall drink the Moon of you 
 and only with beasts and salt I shall talk 
 only ivy and sea 
 I shall understand 


___________________________

thank you, sincerely 
giovanni s.