Predictability of a Dog, of the Sun and of the Undersigned

A kicked dog yelps,
the sun gives way to the moon
and vice versa.
I live
unable to grasp the absence of life
otherwise than as death.

Under the skin is flesh
under the flesh is bone.
In the maximum effort
the deepest and most abstract dream
is just that of finding another dream,
still deeper.

Physiologically defeated
I hope in indescribable havens
for nameless ideas.

Over there our thoughts
with their chemical bonds
won’t exist.

I long,
in this already muggy dawn,
for infinite-dimensional
vertical horizons.

Gasping for breath in the barrel of Diogenes. Lecce, 12th of June 2003

Predictability of a Dog, of the Sun and of the Undersigned

Bradyplanefly

Well-deep anguishes
and joys
like dead flies
immobile on the dark water,
on the veil already numbed
by out of range calm.

And laugher is just a rite
concealing private bereavements
and boredoms,
which I often painfully ram.

On the background of a silent universe. Bologna, 7th of December 1996

Bradyplanefly

Tabula Rasa

Warm, hypnotic creak
of halogen oscillating heater.

For the rest silence,
With no omens of interruption.

And void, in and out,
sweeping infinite astral expanses.

No fear:
A new exile begins.


Moving to the unknown. Lecce, 12th of January 2003

Tabula Rasa

In Need of a Truce

Glares of a barely perceived sun,
tangles of branches
rejections of dialectics
rise from the breathless chest
and burden on the insult
of my thinking about them.

The holistic systems of thought tend to fail. Todi, 18th of May 1996

In Need of a Truce

Grimaces of a German Train

And just remain
in the long futurist aisles
the fleshy lips,
the smiling mouths of the seats
alternated,
following the choreography,
to the smug and arrogant sneers
of certain half-shut ash trays.


From Munich to Berlin, July 1996

Grimaces of a German Train

Fantastic Escape to a Dream of Harmony

Of childhood the timeless plays
let’s renew in this outspread meadow
bright and familiar.

While tender fruits to your lips I offer
an high and bold sun
cheers our joy
which doesn’t know any sunset.

From a fairy you snatched
the loose silk bow
adorning your snow-white back.

A sweet light butterfly
just skims over
my rough chest.

Imaginary turnaround of condition in very rough times, Bologna 2002

Fantastic Escape to a Dream of Harmony

Some Air

Throbbing pain

for the nostrils as well as for the chest

hanging till the spasm

in the black

in the void

from a taut piece

of dark plastic.

Dark is the corner

where the tired eyes loiter

begging the friendlier carpet to save them

from dusty, stifling wicker

in a narrow lightless dining-room.


Your Weltanshaung coincides with your way of breathing, Bologna 5th of May 2000, 1 a. m.

Some Air