Dialogue of the Lovers

ISBN: 9798860841352

Poems by piero scaruffi | Original Italian version | Purchase the book

TM, ®, Copyright © 1998-2023 Piero Scaruffi All rights reserved.

Poem in three parts:
  1. Alef: 35 Cantos
  2. Apeiron: 35 Cantos
  3. Nil: 35 Cantos



"La eternidad es solo lo que sigue, lo igual; y comunica por armonia y luz con lo terreno" Juan Ramon Jimenez

"de mes enfers pensifs les confins sans espoir" Paul Valery

"So leben wir und nehmen immer Abschied" Rainer Maria Rilke

"They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow through Eden took thir solitarie way" John Milton

"were all like workings of one mind the features of the same face ... characters of the great Apocalypse" William Wordsworth

"Do you not also observe that mountains distant from the observer appear to be black, while being in themselves other than the color seen? The cause is only the distance..." Ibn al-'Arabi


   1.  Monologue       (Avanzo da secoli)
   2.  Monologue       (Soffi sulle bolle morte)
   3.  Dialogue        (Nell'amore l'umano)
   4.  Intermezzo     (Un vento affilato)
   5.  Dialogue        (Questo fiore che appassisce)
   6.  Dialogue        (Non c'e` sentimento)
   7.  Monologue       (Strisciano putride nel dirupo)
   8.  Intermezzo     (Abbandoniamo la cava)
   9.  Dialogue        (Sai)
   10. Dialogue        (Minio tatuaggi di sole)
   11. Dialogue        (Nasci ogni istante)
   12. Intermezzo     (Ombre genitali)
   13. Monologue       (La cartilagine di nuvole)
   14. Dialogue        (Una voce nasce dalla mia)
   15. Dialogue        (Repellenti rifiuti d'immani tregende)
   16. Intermezzo     (Non si puo` procedere oltre)
   17. Dialogue        (L'iride di prisma dei tuoi anni)
   18. Dialogue        (Le nostre labbra imbevute)
   19. Monologue       (Il tempo inabitato del futuro)
   20. Intermezzo     (Immergere queste parole)
   21. Dialogue        (Sono il fondo trapunto di vagiti)
   22. Dialogue        (Singhiozziamo)
   23. Intermezzo     (per mentire alle tenebre dal fondo del naufragio)
   24. Monologue       (La cocca di fibre sgualcite)
   25. Dialogue        (Esile tempo umano)
   26. Dialogue        (Giace)
   27. Dialogue        (Spento l'occhio nella conca)
   28. Intermezzo     (Lo squillo della ronda)
   29. Dialogue        (Fuor dall'orbita)
   30. Dialogue        (Avanzo nelle fronde)
   31. Intermezzo     (La corrente dipana)
   32. Monologue       (Al centro della meridiana)
   33. Dialogue        (Ti spoglio)
   34. Dialogue        (Noi, orgasmi)
   35. Dialogue        (Tendere il grilletto)


   36. Dialogue        (Ti ricordi)
   37. Dialogue        (Incatenati)
   38. Monologue       (Ho paura di volare)
   39. Intermezzo     (Un uragano di stelle)
   40. Dialogue        (Ho paura di volare)
   41. Intermezzo     (Il mare s'imprime)
   42. Dialogue        (L'oceano, in tutta la sua)
   43. Dialogue       (Nella luce falsa, incognita)
   44. Dialogue        (La citta` si distende verso)
   45. Monologue       (Ho paura di volare)
   46. Dialogue        (Nello sfondo sbiadito della fotografia)
   47. Monologue       (Abbiamo letto il programma)
   48. Dialogue        (La strada non finiva ancora)
   49. Intermezzo (Non abbiamo ancora notizia)
   50. Dialogue        (Se l'universo intero)
   51. Monologue       (Non ho officiato alcuna di queste messe)
   52. Intermezzo   (Se solo sapessimo)
   53. Dialogue        (Deposto dalla croce)
   54. Monologue       (Scrivo con le ultime gocce d'inchiostro)
   55. Monologue       (Il volo radente di una gemma)
   56. Dialogue        (Ho risucchiato dentro)
   57. Dialogue        (Ombre di uccelli)
   58. Intermezzo   (Perche' quel bagliore che trabocca)
   59. Dialogue        (Nella piazza addormentata del castello) 
   60. Monologue       (Nella criniera pezzata del tramonto)
   61. Dialogue        (Mi sgretolo, stonato)
   62. Dialogue        (Nella penombra abbagliante)
   63. Monologue       (Se spazi di sguardo in foschie pungenti)
   64. Dialogue        (Principio di illusione)
   65. Intermezzo    (Le stelle bianche minuscole)
   66. Dialogue        (Continua, continua)
   67. Monologue       (Lattici incandescenti)
   68. Dialogue        (Esaurito dal sole puro delle colline)
   69. Monologue       (E le foreste che abbiamo attraversato) 
   70. Dialogue        (Siamo scesi insieme)


   71. Dialogue (C'e` qualcosa d'importante) 
   72. Dialogue (Le tue guance bruciano)
   73. Monologue (Sono gia` diventato qualcosa)
   74. Intermezzo (Contavano)
   75. Dialogue (Laggiu`, qui)
   76. Monologue (Una spina d'oro)
   77. Dialogue (Di quest'alba il sogno)
   78. Intermezzo (tutto fonde e scola)
   79. Dialogue (Procedo lentamente, nella speranza) 
   80. Monologue (Senza la dimensione)
   81. Dialogue (Il mio segreto cantare a te)
   82. Intermezzo (Il filo spinato di luci)
   83. Dialogue (La vita non e` forse cio` che succede)
   84. Monologue (La vita non e` di noi)
   85. Dialogue (L'ultima onda ha avvolto la luna)
   86. Dialogue (E noi non siamo, in cio', diversi da loro)
   87. Dialogue (S'arrampica sui nostri volti)
   88. Intermezzo (Il passero di cenere)
   89. Dialogue (Ho colto, oggi)
   90. Dialogue (cosi` lontani)
   91. Monologue (Briciola di universo)
   92. Dialogue (Mi hai dato)
   93. Intermezzo (La verita` e` un pianto)
   94. Dialogue (Arrampicandoci ciechi)
   95. Dialogue (Vengono all'appuntamento) 
   96. Intermezzo     (Dalla faretra trae una freccia)
   97. Monologue (Una cosa abbiamo capito)
   98. Monologue (Non vi e' in me pagina)
   99. Monologue (Ciascuna di queste lacrime)
   100. Monologue (Ti  sei addormentata)
   101. Intermezzo (Noi, forse soltanto)
   102. Dialogue (L'eternita` e` trasparente)
   103. Monologue  (Tu sei) 
   104. Dialogue (E il tuo sguardo)
   105. Monologue ()

First Part: Alef

1. Monologue

f:      I've been marching on for centuries
        in this wind,  
        lifted by a distant past,
        that conforms to the glistening creases 
        of my sullen, weathered cape.   
        In the snail of glowworms  
        of the imminent dusk  
        the cities I visited  
        crowd up buzzing  
        around my footsteps  
        like flies on the carcass  
        of a disemboweled cub. 

        A wanderer lost in time
        will lead me to the imaginary place                           
        towards which I am walking.  
        And memory, recoiling 
        into a crystal dolmen,  
        prostrate within the firs’ 
        emaciated fronds turned like pages  
        by an old woman’s timorous hands,  
        has no other destination 
        than that void of meaning. 

        Being here is terrible.  

2. Monologue

m:   You blow on the dead bubbles
     that have slumped
     in the palm of your hand,
     And it is as if you shoved me
     towards other deserted places
     in search of a question
     to ask you, the first one of which
     you know the answer.

     I forgive you, in the name
     of those infinite traces
     that infinite parts of the universe
     have left everywhere for us,
     of those infinite traces
     that are our future.

3. Dialogue

 :   In love humankind
     loves his own destiny.
     nor does he know which path,
     which hole of earth,
     which trinket of time,
     which thump of a ripe fruit,
     which moan and which gallop
     in fragrances of spring,

     which pack of comrades
     ferocious at the chain,
     which swirl of clouds
     upon disheveled ramparts,
     which bridge of rainbow,
     which ribbon in the hair,
     which knot of sunshine
     on the creases of the eye,

     which time-acrobat 
     balancing in the deserted marquee
     (for how many centuries shall he 
     repeat the somersault
     before he can elicit an applause
     from the crowd of lurking days?
     on that rope you clamber alone,
     you, too, the last night
     smiling tears to oblivion)

m:   to worship (death before life,
     fugitives from ourselves,
     taciturn bodies wrapped in the terror
     of our own embrace, a streak of light
     from the agonizing orbits
     headlong into each other,
     we infinite reflections 
     of ourselves)

 :   (fecundates and refecundates)

m:   Pretexts, only pretexts
     to live a little bit longer
     of that pretext, we
     nausea of this life
     without origins.
     I want to disappear
     in the silence of sky
     of a dying child.

4. Intermezzo

A sharp wind,

skein of hisses,

sol-fas and twirls

between dust and dust

as between anvil and hammer.

5. Dialogue

m:   This withering flower,
     older than the green breath
     of your iris, ephemeral
     remains of a life.

f:   What prompts us
     to eternally wander 
     inside this body
     already pregnant,
     and perhaps already dead?

m:   Sunset putrifies,
     it knots together the city's rattled streets.

f:   You cling, inebriated with the ecstasy
     that scatters through your body,
     until you fall and bounce back into the coffin,
     groomed by one last kiss.

m:   I hear the voice that calls me,
     reminding me of my childhood.

f:   Come, let's go home,
     where I took my first steps,
     to the place where nothingness
     turns into something,

m:   and running on water

f:   come, let us go
     to lay my future
     in that too empty urn.

m:   and the rite of silence.

f:   There will be no square
     that you will not know,
     but in a land
     that you will never reach
     I will be waiting for you.

6. Dialogue

m:   There is no feeling
     inside our anguishes.
     What are you feeling
     in your asbestos shell
     impervious to my gaze 
     behind the scorching grates
     of your silences?

 :   Swishing at the end of the sky,
     the caravan of shackled stars.
     Dipping the void for delirium,
     the moon in the foliage.
     At the masquerade of our coitus,
     moans and shrikes of the living
     randomly scattered on the icy crust
     and twisted in tenuous sounds.
     Pregnant monsters set fire
     to pyres of agonizing brains
     that sink like buzzing shells
     in the soggy sand of pleasure.
     The transplant of the infinite
     in blizzards of mutilated corpses.

m:   The faint blood that gushes 
     from your eyelashes
     coagulates in a whirlwind
     of ever more faded horizons.

 :   Erected warts
     in the gutted wombs
     of their lovers.

m:   In your dilapidated temples
     there beats an unknown breath.

 :   The shivers of the wave
     ebbing and flowing among the reeds,
     swollen canvas of dead eyes.
     Sniff carrion of stars
     in the flickering sepulchral
     firmament of tomorrow.
m:   The smile, curled up in your lips,
     of a date that we never made.

  :  From the crypt there rises a drunken face
     buried in a sunflower of locks of shadows.

m:   Bring to your lips the chalice of my existence
     and empty it.

7. Monologue

  :  They slither putrid in the ravine.

     A gem crackles in the cocoon.

     The claw erupts from the margin
     and pierces the membrane.

     The prey slumps exhausted
     upon the anemic lament of the corpse
     that pokes it relentlessly.
     A spurt of blood
     last weep.

     You too, drink from it,
     oh sallow angel,
     like wet-nurse milk
     at death's breast.

     Do crush in your fingers
     the chrysalis of that howl,
     you too resound,
     like the bat
     in the rubble
     of its breath.

     They spin thorns of dung
     from her virgin guts.

8. Intermezzo

We abandon the quarry

drained by our toil,

blinded by open-air light

and the vein that was not

depleted shall nurture other mouths,

root of darkness

and lethal bait.

9. Dialogue

f:   You know,
     we were never born,
     we are lifeless.

 :   Dense, tiny spiders
     wallow in the fiery maw
     that will give birth, squatting
     at the feet of the throne
     (she licks her mouth,
     she touches her lower parts,
     the eyes of the unborn child,
     gouges them, swallows them,
     and crashes the hanging snot,
     the small skull filthy with placenta,
     balancing herself unsteadily
     on the umbilical cord).
m:   Who has crossed the threshold?

 :   A draft of warm manure,
     night without a star.

f:   We are alone, a shooting star;
     a metal beam, round.

 :   The candle shines mute,
     time present rots obscene.

f:   We enter, awake, the dream.

10. Dialogue

m:   I chisel tattoos of sun
     on the sharp edge of eyelid
     that separates our horizons,
     I varnish blindnesses with lies
     in the tinning nymph crystal 
     that plows my gigantic eyes.

 :   The blizzard languishes in the paralysis of curtains,
     pulsing concave slabs.

f:   I endure with my heart in my throat
     the blows of his cloak on my hips. 

m:   I trample on the sand 
     the winding track
     of my return.

 :   We sleepwalk
     in the desert.

f:   From mirage to mirage
     I hear reassembled
     the faint echo of his delirium,
     which I don't know I heard before.

 :   We retrace
     in that light of guilt
     the endless oasis

m:   which I do not know I have seen.

11. Dialogue

m:   You are born every moment
     clinging to your stone,
     barren clod of soil.

 :   A scream of rock,
     a step into the flames,
     a swarm of dried fronds.

 :   Light radiated from the crevasse,
     dune of another shore,
     advent of places,
     halo gravitating 
     in the extinguished space.

m:   You keep watch in the cold on your knees
     over my corpse nabbed by fossils,
     your effigy shatters in cascading shards
     on the flashing shells of the snails.

12. Intermezzo

Genital shadows

slash the bowels of the desert,

animal cacti

crushed in slipknot gazes.

From a diamond cliff

a lassoo of vultures

clasps the bodies embracing

in the armor of wind

gored by a horn of sun.

13. Monologue

 :   The cartilage of clouds
     probing the texture of the sky
     drinks from the heat of the alleys
     which groping hooks of the eye
     roam without breathing.

     The hill, supine on the plain
     which is ablaze in crystals of smoke,
     glitters from a sea-like distance.

     Floating shells in the mud of brushwood
     in a rhythm of cramped dunes,
     of exhausted water pits,
     in the universal scuffle of the levee
     which is a levee of every levee.

     Glimmers of the coital wreck,
     golden juice on the bloody hem
     of a faded colchicum,
     coral mouth with the tuft of a butterfly,
     snail's twig stretched from leaf to leaf.

     The footprint of events runs rampant,
     the emphasis and the whim, our fate,
     of death, virgin chasm of imminent

14. Dialogue

f:   A voice is born of mine,
     helmsman of lewd tears of sex.

f:   He embosses his face in the quicksands
     of the dream, raucous and satiated, 
     his arms around my neck, dreaming of intrepid
     shipwrecks, kisses me in the mirror
     and walks away grinning.

 :   Blind voices.

f:   To flee the threat
     (on the canvas embroidered by the lighthouse
     the cold star rising in me)
     I lift the chalice full of lava -
     a spasm chisels a loathsome petal,
     a frosty bud of remorse,
     my toast a candid death rattle.

 :   An oscillating detritus of life
     radiates from the intermittent breath of the fetus
     to infinity like a speck of uranium,

f:   I gather my knees in my lap
     to groom myself as mangy as a bitch
     in the foam of ringing ears of wheat.

 :   frayed eye, a lens of oblivion
     spins from the remnants of the sun a burning ray.

f:   A voice lifts off
     at the zoo of perverse luxuries
     of my silences,
     once quenched our thirst
     in whirlpools of rock.

 :   A cluster of limbs
     lights up the invisible.
     The last one.

15. Dialogue

 :   Time speaks to the eternal cells
     in the aquarium.

m:   Time rages around me.

 :   The world is
     a crystal ball
     in the trembling hands
     of an old fortune-teller.

m:   Dew that murmurs and unravels
     gliding down the stem.

 :   Time climbs back, breach to breach, its walls,
     ignites the pupils of hawks.

m:   Must I
     wait for an emissary to appear
     with the map of my journey
     sealed for me?

 :   Not the spark
     that pops out of the calm bottom
     and extinguishes all fires.

16. Intermezzo

It is impossible to proceed any further.  
The railway tracks funnel organic matter

from one sundial to the other relentlessly. 
All around the crater  

in the gravel of the cosmic debris, 

in the blinding mist  

of their alien reflections, 

a gallop between sun and stone 

jolts, behemoth,  

the foundations of time.  

17. Dialogue

f:   The prismatic iris of your years,
     rapping water at the porthole.

m:   The whirlwinds of sludge
     intoned for me,

f:   or crusts of insects?
     Life a putrid alley
     that you travel afraid of getting lost.

m:   how much of you
     soaked in menstrual blood

f:   You put out leaves,
     endless flashes
     icicles aimed at the sky of my breast,

m:   in that circular moan ?

f:   swooshing face snuggled
     in the drenched seed of the shiver,
     pale grief of the treacherous.
     I probe the seabed of your mind,
     lugubrious candelabra of thoughts
     that scatters black sepia light.
     I read on the stave of your pupils
     the step in the fog of your torments:
     you brood the impossible holocaust,
     your scream splintered on the vaults
     crashes in fetid dead-end tunnels.

 :   The phosphorous clock-hands of our grief
     propagate us as stains in three dimensions
     in the oceanic quadrants of the void.

 :   I whisper: perhaps.

18. Dialogue

f:   Our lips drenched
     in the poison of lies.

 :   From the fine dust of millennial silences
     the throng of farewells and returns
     stokes the loneliness of the stars.

m:   Are you so fast
     that I cannot see you ?

 :   Vertigoes of a star
     squinted and hunched
     that paws inside your future.

f:   Our hope screeches
     in the flames of your every cry.

 :   At the crossing every time-traveler

m:   You inert fleeting present ruin,
     eternal flight of mirrors
     in the dark labyrinths
     of the last seed.

 :   Adunc puffs of wing
     in the wrecked belly of twilight
     pecking at shooting stars
     (clutching litter of windy bones in the air
     all along the dive).

 :   Every going and every returning
     is teeming with burials.

f:   The mirror image
     imprinted in your face,
     howl at the world's throat
     in the skeletal creekbed of mirages and wreckage.

 :   A ghostly laughter escapes with the horizon line
     along the rim of the leash.

f:   Your rape looms against a marsh of memories
     into which one day you will burst voiceless.

19. Monologue

 :   Repellent waste of ghastly sabbaths,
     the uninhabited time of the future,
     etched on the pinhead of this perennial dream
     (knot in the brain, gray matter of antennae,
     image hung on the rout of the absolutes
     in the mold that creeps on the edge of the abyss),
     draws on the unknown and the infected suburbs of the mind
     head on with the drift of the present,
     absorbs light from the wisdom of the end,
     in the shaft of the mass grave
     hatches an ecstasy of debacles.
     A skein of birds
     spins in the glassy funnel,
     funeral of lights, blood of rubies
     sewn into eyelids
     in the blazing boils of the contagion.

20. Intermezzo

... in order to lie to the darkness from the bottom of the shipwreck,

to eradicate the compass, 

and the fingernail of feather,

and, the lifeless arm left to dangle in the storm,

the helm surrendered to the zenith of numbers,

to close in a limit to infinity

the chasm of the maelstrom, 

light for glass.

21. Dialogue

m:   I am the bottom quilted by moans.

 :   Suddenly
     the squinting eye of the belltower.

m:   I hurl the echo against the wall.
     In faint canopies of dream
     I soar my bells,
     gut of faces,
     harnessed as a dragon.
     With a rift from blankness
     sharp swallows of remorse,
     I planted in fire
     beaming in your shrill agony.

 :   The elytra-like shudder 
     of an anonymous pain
     that dies again.

22. Dialogue

 :   We sob
     under the riddled

m:   They will converge, blue waves 
     from all directions of the sky
     carrying in an invisible casket
     the sound of her voice.

 :   We go on.
     Against the uncertain background of dawn
     dancing tinfoil moons.

m:   We will arrive breathless
     at the border between the fake and the real,
     no longer knowing where each is.

 :   Submerged by the tide of doubt,
     a new fear
     will drown us.

m:   We paw lying down
     on the back of the armor
     in the dazzling night,
     our life a patch
     for something eternal.

 :   With no shadown on the beach
     how beautiful it is to be
     without having been.

m:   Don't get distracted:
     this is the last one.
     A fortune of years,
     and ever more distant

 :   Eternity is what remains
     when we are dead.

 :   In the light.

23. Intermezzo

To dop these words

exchanged by chance

inside the nightmare of coils of blades

from the trampoline that still vibrates after the dive

into the swampy swoon of the brain,

and to blow into the blowgun

the poison that will blossom

on the lips of memory,

to gild the dragonflies,

their fragrant husks,

in the tangle of brambles

and garlands of vertebrae ...

24. Monologue

 :   The lump of crumpled fibers
     of their somnambulant whispering

               lightly penetrates
     a pond of shattered mirrors,
     diamond nib that etches,
     immune from madness,
     at the other end of life.

     By turnarounds of dreams,
     of encrypted fingerprints

                        it looms,
     gloomy pyramid of wreckage,
     hieroglyph of frenzied crimes
     etched in marbles, nocturnal 
     pallor of quivering pupils,
     fatuous charm of languishing darkness.

     The glimmer of an extinguished star,
     frail vamp in the chalice,
     takes turns
     with the thunderbolt in the dark.

25. Dialogue

m:   Feeble human time,
     in the momentum of the shadows
     that are swollen by the night.

f:   Come:
     We cannot remain any longer
     in any place.

m:   And future time,
     when our future
     will not be anymore,
     and we'll have to restart 
     from the beginning, groping 
     for that thread of eternity
     that we had glimpsed,
     but not rolled up,
     in the dim light.

f:   Tell me:
     could we possibly exist
     without dying
     in all that emptiness?
     Even love
     is nothing but a false eternity.
     Let's say goodbye to each other 
     one more time.
     Everything goes on
     as if we didn't exist,
     had never existed.
     All feels silent of us.

     We are this, we.

m:   And time of the edge,
     when you don't know what you are yet
     and intoxicated you whistle to yourself 
     already vanished around the corner.

f:   The drained oasis
     that you call "life".

26. Dialogue

 :   Everyone
     lies immortal
     in her own desert.

m:   The only meaning of our living
     is to mourn our dead,
     from whose epigraphs we were born
     and to whose archaic childhood we shall return
     in an era without captive years.

 :   I, who am god,
     a skull wrapped in so much universe
     and that many times have attempted suicide,
     the extermination,

 :   A speaker blabbering into thin air
     warns, last deft and mutation of the soul:

 :   I, abomination of centuries, know nothing but radiate.

 :   "Forward, forward! in the nest of hydrometras!"

27. Dialogue

m:   The eye extinguished in the basin

m:   Scents of brain
     in the infinite shell
     of your back,
     overturned turtle
     in the seabed of silence.

 :   Flaming tongues
     like epileptic snakes
     in the pouring rain
     on scraps of lands
     severed from the earth.
     Peels of snow bury themselves
     in the whirlwind of footprints
     that follows the brook.
     Currents of sky and shadows
     sift through the echo's filigree.
     A frost of boredom,
     the poise of a lassoo of sand,
     a piano scarred by the fingers of a ghost
     in the empty auditorium,
     pops of diamond petals 
     in the loges,
     that knocks at the window,
     an acrobatic spider on the fibers of the water,
     cobweb of corals
     in the riot of waves
     resentful of the wind.

m:   A heatbeat of folly
     riddled with gangrenes,
     an immortal flame
     will grow out of your ruins.

28. Intermezzo

The blare of the patrol

on the trapdoor of the gallows.

He stands silent, besieged by the convulsed

limbs of the trunk: the executioner.

29. Dialogue

 :   Outside the orbit,
     veteran of follies of infinites,
     he wobbles hideous
     gagged by haloes 
     of evacuated worlds, 

 :   my unearthed coffin, 

m:   That rabid evil in shackles 
     watches over the wagon's marks
     hollowed in the indelible blood
     of the alley that saturates our journey.

 :   sleepless throttles with breath
     to the glare of an obscene relic,

m:   Even the last sign
     the last name
     of this planet.

 :   Each dead walks beyond his death 
     and vanishes into mine.

m:   I am living
     without the need to say 
     the mute word, 

 :   filthy trill
     in a graveyard of futures,

m:   Am I not time?

 :   devastation of the shadow 
     the rotten ones of here.

30. Dialogue

m:   I lurch ahead amid the fronds
     that recompose
     in a slow and solemn
     rhythm as the wind
     The blooming sky swings
     on the worn canvas
     of scorching clouds
     and on the absolute ashes
     of my mind.

f:   I carry the train of the dress
     and loop the pearls 
     of your necklace 
     in the azure that I don't measure
     with the mind, the arcane
     reflecting space 
     behind which  incomprehensible
     creatures swim. 

m:   An unburied virgin,
     I pull to the heart
     my last seed, 
     exposed to the immense
     roar of time.

31. Intermezzo

The current unravels

the inert shadows of the wreckage:

still shining on that ocean floor

something of all of yesterday.

32. Monologue

f:      At the center of the sundial
        I take in my fingers  
        your hourglass lips 
        and inflate the balloon  
        flaccid of your face 
        until it soars in the air 
        and without thrusting a cry  
        flutters inert in the wind. 
        It bounces on the solar sand, 
        it shatters, banner of mortals  
        in the tragic duel, 
        thrusting a shout  
        that sends rolling 
        breathless circles of water
        over my eye’s fragmented shell.  
        Your gaze 
        cries golden islands  
        along the uncharted trail 
        of our bodies.  

33. Dialogue

m:      I undress you, 
        petal by petal, 
        in the dim light of an ice torch
        that melts your eyes, 
        bluer than mine;  
        floating, on the swamp
        of kiss-quilted skin, 
        on the tender flesh of the oyster.
f:      I turn my eye up, 
        and affix it to the storm 
        of our shadows 
        on the vault of the globe,
        faint streaks of stars 
        for crystal crepuscules, 
        plummeting over a mirror of bubbles.
m:      I curl up      
        inside the palm of your hand,
        in a cut of the crevasse 
        where foam roars fertile
        of you, and scream until breathless
        your sharpened nails. 
f:      Now your stem, crippled, cries 
        warm dew; and with your lifted finger
        you point to our motionless shadows,
        coiled up on the chandelier. 

34. Dialogue

f:   We, orgasms,
     erect brains,
     homicidal orgasms,

m:   we contemplate the monster
     that rises from nowhere
     at the groin of the tormentor.

 :   Throw the fishing line
     in the puddle of virgin flesh,
     tide of their corpses.
     (A genital scream seals
     the torture of a sleepwalker of life,
     hoarse voice struggling in the visible
     magnetized by the chasmic sphere,
     whale of face vibrating
     of immortal shards,
     creeping through the expanse of mournings,
     that proceeds derelict from the grave
     to the earthquake of prophecies).

m:   I kiss on the mouth
     her severed head
     that purges from the neck
     blood and marrow.

f:   I eat his vomit,
     I baptize myself with his seed.

m:   We, incomplete hemispheres
     of an infinite distance
     of sexual moans.

 :   You turned me,
     burning with grief,
     to relish my face.

m:   The wavy stream of my sweat
     on your blinding black squeal

35. Dialogue

m:      Tightening the trigger, 
        twisting the elastic band around the pin
        to charge up my hell, 
        killing with a sperm bullet.
:       Obscene bodies of solitude 
        clinging to the umbilical chord of desire 
        (murky metaphysical animal),
        bodies desecrated by thought,
        injected with mystic shivers.
m:      Falling in the trap  
        ravaged by jaws. 
:       Look for a wing, a stone,
        a strip of sun from which to talk to me,
        without shame, with the tip of your gaze
        until from the edge of our coitus shoots
f:      Dive your arms in the air,
m:      We never end 
f:      opaque plates of pain,
m:      of falling 
f:      mute stones of death. 
m:      in the abyss.  

Second Part: Apeiron

36. Monologue

m:      Do you remember
        the hooked beak of that summit 
        steep above reefs of ruby; 
        the twin silences of that night,
        two drops of blood on a stroll
        through the veins of the medieval borough?
        and the rocks thrown in the clot
        of waves from the emptied beach;
        the quartz swans that we dissolved 
        feather by feather in the lake;
        the vortex of creeping antennas 
        on the roofs, which we felt vibrate 
        in tune with us and the sunset;
        the blossoms of homes clinging 
        to the barren wrinkles of the cliffs?
        us, wanderers in the atlas 
        which life leafs through
        and points out.  

37. Dialogue

 :   (Chained,
     innumerable deities roam
     these unlimited hinterlands,
     with no memory of their words,
     breaking the wave of time
     with no other compass
     than their own route)

f:   All colors mutate
     in the curtain of sunset
     that slides slowly
     on the starry rails.

m:   I feel like a slinger
     with the heart contracted
     in the elastic strip of the slingshot
     already stretched for shooting:
     the projectile that spins
     without hitting the target
     in the branches of the mist
     is the crystal ball
     into which the soothsayer will gaze
     to foretell my future.

 :   (And now that the fire could subside
     there is no god coming to save you)

f:   Barely a faint voice
     for the path that fades
     and the talisman of one of your smiles.

38. Monologue

f:   I am afraid of flying
     in this desolate land 
     where the rubble of the summer 
     leisurely putrefy 
     and the spring is a secret 
     known to a few, to be kept
     at all costs.

f:   I swing upside down from the trapeze,
     howling northern winds to the primordial clouds
     that agonize like barren concubines.

f:   In your eyes I read 
     the last will of the cosmos,
     your bequest of stars.

f:   I am afraid of flying in the dreary withering
     of the moon: who cares for a wrinkle of shade
     in the narrow chink 
     when outside the fence a bonfire
     is gaudily burning nonexistent horizons,
     indifferent to the parade of sphinxes
     that ascends the same sky?

f:   In the sea is etched your white breath,
     diaphanous cast of breakneck firmaments.

f:   The last smile
     of a reflection of water
     lands on your cheek
     like a gilded butterfly
     on the most fragrant flower.

f:   I am like him 
     torch in the catacomb,
     will-o'-the-wisp drenched in
     impossible gallops,
     in kisses of dragonfly,
     roll of twigs clinging
     to a dead trunk of cactus
     in the mud lit by the wind,
     clockwork toy
     blundering forward 
     by mechanical clicks
     in the universal desert.

39. Intermezzo

A hurricane of stars

on this crystal night  

orbits furiously over the steep  

tortuous and narrow alleys, 

crushed by the stone walls 

of churches and palaces that centuries 

of names could not change.  

The crowd chattering in the promenade 

fulfills the most sacred of rituals 

pawning itself to the eternity  

of silences, detritus to which 

the bedlam of the stroll gives 

a demented and ferocious voice. 

Unbeknownst to all, a wave 

underneath the porches and inside the decrepit 

doorways advances and swells, 

like a ghost with the same accent  

brandishing its claws everywhere: 

the swarming footprint of spirals, 

in an eclipse of ashes and bells, 

from the nefarious storm above.  

40. Dialogue

f:      I am afraid of flying,
        shivers of fakir 
        jolt me: I tighten  
        the band over my eyes.
:       But the miracles that fill 
        the square, shavings of sun...
f:      the crowd a giant  
        mocking me without shame,
:       idols of stone, beggars, 
        fossil icons, in concentric 
        spheres of ivory... 
f:      Your face shines  
        on a tinfoil leaf, 
        and the magic words  
        you pronounce for me  
        escort my dreams  
        in that sea of sparkles.
:       Picking a flower of ash
        from the stake: s/he loves me, s/he loves me not...
f:      In your eyes I read 
        a poem that will last 
        for the rest of my life. 
:       backwards in time, alcove, 
        cavern, ravine of lava.
f:      Holding your hand 
        I will resume my journey
        from where I had paused it; 
        and I will fly.  

41. Intermezzo

The sea stamps itself

in the rainbow,

cold and sinuous,

of distant lights

that crawl accordion-like

on the by now invisible slopes

like the arched vertebrae

of a rattlesnake.

A knot of shivers

in the dock of the landing

jerks lifelessly

the hull stranded

in the remains of the harbor

from which it had set sail.

The incorruptible midnight siren

blinks wrapped in her suit of fog,

prostrate on the glint of the frost,

glow of star calling for help,

a point in the firmament

of universal destiny,

holed up in the honeycomb cell

of an inaccessible bastion,

ready to emit a shrill howl 

at the first puff that will fulfill

the latent and perennial nightmares.

42. Dialogue

 :      The ocean, in all its
        spectral inutility, sends 
        skeletons of algae and cyclops
        wrecking on the reef  
        (in the transparent sheath
        our compass continues 
        its clock-like motion). 
 m:     To catch the radiant clouds 
        hanging like ripe clusters 
        or like sharp cirrus from the sky.
:       The remoteness smeared with blood,
        of drunken and frenzied seagulls 
        that fumble fan-like. 
        They dig where they have hidden,
        extract emptiness from the air,
        throw memories out in space.
        The flight grazes the wave 
        in the many nameless dwellings 
        of their eternal childhood. 
 m:     Pebbles make mute circles 
        in the blinded water. 
        The gaze catches them fitfully
        at the bottom of gravel of sun, 
        of putrid tangles of root.
 :      The footprints on the beach stop
        in front of the gate that did not open. 
 m:     I turn the winch of the anchor 
        under the upturned sail.
 :      In order to decide the route? 

43. Dialogue

f:   In the false, incognito light,
     ghostly, that bleeds
     on the dull anagrams
     of the sundials, you point at me
     the distance of the sunset
     as everyone's finish line. 
m:   We must assume surviving
     the inanimate forms in the ark,
     immune to the deadly virus,
     blind fetuses radiating
     ambiguous identities of tyrants
     in the cloudbursts of the deluge
     (and the water is a great
     asthmatic mirror, fenced
     by an unfinished margin).
f:   I am afraid of flying
     into the fertile pupil
     of the cyclop, into the clamped
     mouth of volcanoes that
     are no longer bleeding.

m:   Bandit, hermit, nake
     blindfolded, the hands
     tied, dripping blood 
     from a hole in the armor,
     I crawl forward in the groove
     my palm's life line,
     certain in my heart
     of the looming gallows.

f:   In the multitude of confusing 
     signs, tattooed on the walls
     by previous crowds
     who crowded, sick
     of immortality, the same
     gloomy tunnel,
     there is certainly inscribed
     also this life of mine.

m:   We all must in the space 
     of a dark instant
     find again the course 
     within the mass grave.

44. Dialogue

 :   The city stretches toward
     the blind light of the explosion
     under the bridge of rubble
     growing by leaps and bounds.
     A torrent of wreckage
     that flows without a sound.

m:   I warm myself to the flash
     flicking through the universe,
     I lean out from the corolla
     into a turquoise whirlpool,
     upside down
     I release my seeds,
     I blow my rainbows
     into the gleams of the merry-go-round.
 :   The storm flogs
     the wax statues
     that crawl bellowing
     in the crumbling veranda.

 m:  A very wide circle
     ripples the canopy
     spinning on the pivot
     of my pupil.

 :   The walls cancel the homes 
     from the filigree on fire.

m:   I turn the limestone
     to unearth the satiated worm
     in a labyrinth of leeks.

 :   A finger of sunshine, basted
     between two sheaves, scours
     the torrent of petals which floods
     the valley: the hurricane floats,
     bloodless after the savage intercourse,
     dragged by the current.

m:   The needle of the compass dangles
     like a fishing line without bait.

45. Monologue

f:   I am afraid of flying,
     dressed in thorns and seals,
     inside the last blast
     of granite.

     I gather in my womb
     the syllables that you unleash 
     of an alphabet that I do not know,
     the heartbeats and the echoes 
     of air-less clouds,
     which nonetheless will understand
     where I lead them.

     Shadows are born and die 
     all the time in every point, at first
     senseless stains, opaque
     mirrors, then forms, and names,
     which confer meaning to persons
     and things, and that vanish
     into the jaws of other shadows,
     in the noise that wilts.

     In your eyes I have read
     the gold of these nights.

     I am afraid of flying
     in the mind and in space.

     In this circular night 
     I am even more mortal,
     but perhaps something of me 
     will forever violate
     your oyster husk.

     The universe is
     this vast luminous seashell 
     that repeats the tiny-shell buzzing
     of your voice.

46. Dialogue

m:   In the faded background of the photograph
     taken from the terrace at dusk
     the fragile halo of your sun shines through...

f:   ...I eavesdrop on the dim crimson breath
     of the eclipse, broken by a gasp
     of fullmoon that gusts from deep
     gorges within your gazes.

m:   Flung by a burst of light
     in the mazes of joy of the two
     pupils that I clench in my fists,
     in the quartz cast that gives shape
     and voice to the relief of the firmaments,
     I correctly guess in my solitude
     the endless thread, the scheme
     of pebbles, that will guide me
     towards the center, to the pulpit, 
     to perform the miracles
     that I have secretly tried for years.
f:   I recognize in the first glimmers
     of that no man's sky
     the mold of your face.
     And in the filaments of petals
     that flare up like a fuse
     on the ashen humps of ridges,
     in the stray fumes of lanterns
     that ascend those sinister slopes,
     in the languid crumbs of mist
     drifting among the islands of the lake,
     I find again the thrills of an evening
     that for you never existed.

m:   The miracle will fail.
     Nothing could give us
     more meaning and life
     than knowing how to read it
     in one's own heart;
     or in a blink of an eye
     that eluded the lens.

47. Monologue

m:   We've read the program
     on the faces undone by weeping and fire
     of the dead trembling in the blizzard
     at the two fiery edges of the avenue.
     Within life, we are some throbbing rags
     in perpetual struggle with lightning.
     Our eyes red with wind
     are freckles blown on the dull face,
     on the charred skull of the sun.
     Our last breath
     spins inside a mistletoe of screams
     in whirlpools of millennial hovels.
     Fasting in vice, in dark regret,
     immune to the impossible, the superfluous diadem
     of a paradox that we throw on the table
     like the card sealing the game.
     The parchment gilded by swarms of fescues
     that crumples entangled on a branch
     is all that is left for us
     to study. The heartbeats
     you can enumerate like the bounces
     of the stone on the water.
     I try to forget the faded crowd
     of crucifixes planted in my memory
     like tenacious roots.

48. Dialogue

m:   The road still was not ending
     inside the mountain's scaly skin,
     the open maw in front of us
     was breathing arabesques of mist.

f:   We followed the liocorn footprints 
     to the edge of the world.
     Having no wings, I did not jump.
     And you, helpless, said nothing.
     In that moment of silence 
     there was only the echo into the depths
     of a call from birds of prey
     slinging in flocks upon the game.
m:   I caught you from the dewy stem
     on a colchichi iceberg,
     I blew away the honey smoke 
     that still wrapped you in the cocoon.

f:   Crucified on the summit
     in the grip of the full moon,
     scoured by the rain
     like bundles of rags,
     of that brief apocalypse
     we were occult deities.

49. Intermezzo

We have no news yet

of the place where we have not  

by chance arrived, harbor 

or limit who knows, perhaps  

just a transfer station between 

one shore and the other, 

from one isle to the other  

(on this side it’s ash 

not sand the shoreline 

and spaces without borders 

searching without finding  

places with no name).  

50. Dialogue

 :   If the entire universe
     failed the step
     in the filigree of my dreams,
     it would be but the beginning
     of a new dream. The habit
     spreads through the cataclysms,
     real and imagined, of the form
     of existence that we have inherited.

f:   On the crumbling perch
     between two drunken pyres
     the edict, the intrigue,
     the gag of life,
     acephalous like the wave:
     I taste with my fingers
     its jagged edges...

 :   It will not be the swallows
     that have lingered
     in a remnant of summer,
     and which now chase
     in the already faded wake,
     to sing the call:

m:   but rather a rustling from nowhere
     of putrefied insects.

51. Monologue

 :   I have not officiated at any of these masses;
     I do not know what your prayers speak of;
     I know your language of thieves and murderers,
     but I do not understand your animal sounds:
     by writing poetry, I exorcise myself, I abstain.
     These absurd, humiliated hearts,
     camouflaged in the chaste, heartbreaking
     cocoon of sunshine that unravels
     on the surface of the water, dissected by sharp
     blades of light, wrapped in the shrouds
     of ever more distant horizons,
     ever more opaque, shadows that
     parade skirting the walls
     studded with obscene graffiti.
     These last scummy vestiges
     of an epidemic that did not spare
     the bamboo kennel of our 
     dreams, stare at us with no eyes,
     inert in their gloomy vanity. 
     The web of souls,
     the dust cloud of lives
     disguised in the caverns,
     draws voice and chorus
     to a landscape of fragments,
     to a threshold of confused whispers,
     to an endless expanse
     of nothingness: to the sound 
     of the future.

52. Intermezzo

If only we knew

where this route 


and why.

If only we didn't know

where we come from,

and why...

53. Dialogue

f:   Deposed from the cross
     With intact palms,
     he asks me for the way.

 :   I pick up a dry chip
     and randomly let it fall:
     if of all the paths it will point
     at the old man, he shall be resurrected
     and he will retrace his steps
     to the temple, to preach.
     Otherwise, on the hill
     on his grain of fire
     he will remain to pray
     in the archaic idiom,
     to babble alone
     inside the storm.

m:   In the drained space of the cemetery
     Dusty tombstones tattooed with signs,
     with withered sparks, with effigies,
     with senseless lies, with invisible
     realities, eternal mirrors scattered in piles.

 :   (Swarming in the crypts, 
     they fall silent when he enters 
     the enclosure, like tamed 
     beasts. Other shadows
     cross the horizon)

m:   From the embankment the voice hits them,
     a frosty farewell, enumerates the vices,
     and, lastly, condemns 
     those condemnations to count,
     to be irreversible
     rapes of love in the 
     infinite flesh of time.

54. Monologue

f:   I write with the last drops of ink along the margin of the sheet of paper
     which the prudish bites of the first flames mottle with bruises.
     Emptiness quickly fills up with long caravans of signs.
     My handwriting sways discontinuously, slants, twists.
     Outside a shivering of candlelight jumbles the pebbles of time.
     The endless lights of the columns of cars flowing
     From end to end the city and its seabed of totem 
     Shine stronger and more tender in the eyes of passersby.
     Line after line the writing moves away from the edge
     And begins to encroach on the dunguarded spaces of the center,
     that place of points adjacent to themselves that serves as a ford.
     The drunken patrons scatter through untidy neighborhoods in unhealthy alleys,
     the sound of myriad footsteps chasing each other through the night hovers
     like the ticking of clocks over the lives of those who survived
     the shipwreck who, despicable, watch from their windows the end.
     The gallop of flaming crests presses on the paper lattice.
     In a grain of light that inflates out of all proportion and devours my shadow
     I hastily reread my last words, which will soon be ashes in the dark.

55. Monologue

f:   The grazing flight of a gem
     cracks the crystal of the lectern
     lit under a helmet of pins.

m:   At the silver ford of light
     on the frozen sheet of the book
     I stare stunned into the void:
     I am afraid to understand everything.

f:   At melting the infernal amulet,
     the occult casket of our hearts,
     waits for the clump of mosquitoes
     that swells in the fireplace, on the pulsing
     temples of the burning embers.
m:   Affixed with the pin to the wall
     a mirror without reflection.
     No ray falls on the glass
     capable of bringing color, there is no
     signal to the world, nexus
     between being and being 

f:   I am afraid of flying
     into the chasms of meaning
     that you have dug for me,
     inside the mounds of all
     the reflections of my face.

56. Dialogue

m:   I sucked into
     the blue of my eyes
     the tears that you
     had entrusted to me.

 :   I bide my time until the pattering
     crumbles behind me,
     until in the primordial shell
     there is absolute silence,
     until the white word resurfaces
     from deliria of lost horoscopes.

m:   In the silhouette, riddled
     with fires, of the mountain
     an abjured idea of god will sprout,
     inhibited dialogue of the dead,
     enigma, castaway paralysis,
     that will secrete, hourglass, 
     a finer sand.
     It will fly, in the echo of your footsteps,
     over the stilt homes and the wastes. 

 :   The bleeding scimitar
     of the moon will guillotine
     on the sacrificial stone
     of this nameless summit
     a soggy puppet
     of dreams: from the gash
     there will drip the shaggy
     fabric of the brain;
     extinguished flower of ambushes:
     of frayed plots
     and of incoherent endings.
m:   It will lie lightly
     on the palm of your hand,
     in a life line
     that was fading,
     and it will let itself be carried
     by the current, like
     a seagull seer
     landed by chance on the river.

 :   Weeping and laughter
     exposed by a crack 
     to the same light
     will awaken, unanimous cry,
     over the flames of the stars.

57. Dialogue

m:   Bird shadows 
     catch their breath from the bottom 
     of the chasms,
     an uproar of claws
     and beaks 
     rises from nowhere,
     an atrocious becoming
     flesh and blood 
     in the riddled skeleton 
     of the world.

f:   The signs at the fork in the road
     invite everyone to head
     to a location that perhaps
     we have just left behind.

m:   All we know of this life
     is the labyrinthine chaos
     of directions, norms and prohibitions
     that in us is reincarnated.
     With bowed heads we resume our way
     along the outstretched arrow of time,
     knowing full well that the bow was laid down
     in the first thousandth of a second
     and was never found again.

f:   (But let us not forget to pay
     at the dilapidated border post
     the toll).

m:   Distant figures decompose
     at the far edge of light,
     desiccated skeletons of cacti.

f:   The whirlwind that runs over 
     the lucent thorns of the sand
     vanishes inside the horizon.

m:   In your eyes I have read
     the last of all truths:
     even the words that remain
     at the end of the game
     have a purpose.

58. Intermezzo

Why the gleam that overflows

from bottomless nothingness,

those windy wings in the glimpse of azure...?

...and the merciless beak

for those few scraps of light ?

59. Dialogue

m:   A last spasm of full moon,
     that strains the surface of the bubble
     until unhinging the delicate puzzle
     of tiles, the living blocks of the mosaic,
     harpoons our fleeting shames, the prudery
     that you confuse with words we will not utter,
     in the sleeping square of the castle.

m:   Sparse crumpled shadows,
     creeping all around us,
     giddy, under lampposts
     that smoke and waver
     like candle flames,
     that probe of those 
     mediumistic souls
     the unholy depths.

m:   On the sidelines, in the penumbra
     of the gas station
     as in an oasis in the desert,
     our gazes will tell each other
     the impossible shapes,
     the enigmatic equilibria
     of our history,
     will trade immortal
     whispers without breathing.

m:   They speak on our behalf, in whispers,
     the relics of these months,
     the phone booth, like
     a temple in the mist,
     and the bus stop,
     with the roof dripping
     strata of silvery reflections,
     the gate of the building,
     the window of your house,
     the life that I would chase
     hopelessly from joy to joy
     all the way to the antiquated haberdashery 
     that you dreamed of as a child.

f:   One hand slips into the other,
     I close my eyes and dare
     kissing you on the cheek
     and, under our moon,
     my happy birthday.

60. Monologue

m:   They stand out
     in the dappled mane of twilight:
     the finish line of the last chess piece,
     and the hangman's sinister crown.
     The dice thrown haphazardly
     roll inanimate
     on the blue tiles of the chessboard.

m:   In the already immense vortex
     that summons us to gather,
     twining grasses on the dress-train 
     of rubble, drunken whales,
     puppets of quicksand,
     or birds of prey in the canyons,
     fastened to the bark of the walls
     by the suction cups of the last rays,
     chess pieces scattered pell-mell, we hold out
     our hand in the dark lest we miss
     the next handhold in the already
     microscopic moment that is left.

m:   What am I in the roulette,
     meteorite, virus, acorn,
     transplant of star to stone,
     hot air balloon bearing for ballast
     the same gravity as the sun ?
     Or the steel ball that spins
     and bounces in the notches of the wheel?
     What will become of me when
     I will have flown, I will have carved
     in the moon's halo
     my wake like a signature,
     and will land on the stale ground?
     Will I be like the pinecone unhorsed from the branch
     that towers over the accordion of dead leaves ?

m:   Whose calligraphy of fireflies is it
     that wrote in the night (the black
     swamp where my steps sink)
     those words so arduous to decipher?

61. Dialogue

m:   I crumble, out of tune,
     in the auditorium decorated
     with friezes and stucco,
     when consumed
     each torch
     the dignified audience
     waits foreboding
     for the curtain to rise
     and a for stroke of the wands,
     convulsing into the void,
     to announce the start.

f:   In the mind will remain
     an unfinished void,
     as of someone who left,
     vanished without saying bye;
     and over the years people will wait 
     for a sign that help find him again,
     for the amount sufficient to ransom him.

 :   The musician searched in vain
     in the lines of the stave
     for a note to play: the plectrum
     creeps lifeless over the sharpened strings,
     descends along a trajectory
     that has no end but itself,
     and will produce no other sound
     than this.

62. Dialogue

m:   In the dazzling penumbra
     of this flight of stairs,
     flipping through the indelible
     calendar of my steps,
     vast remnants of the past
     walk towards me,
     sordid slander
     the flashlight I hold
     in my heart.

m:   The suffocated tuning fork
     of your voice
     tries in vain
     to intone mine:
     the weak scaffolding
     that does not creak
     under the weight of the roof
     has no support.
f:   Memory seals
     the scars, the gaps
     that opened in the bustle
     of fugitives. In the ashes
     a kindled spark,
     emaciated cell, gibbous
     bubble, divining germ
     in the speckled spectrum
     of the hemorrhage,
     on the blooming cartilages
     that the fire cloaks
     with bloody bandages.
m:   In the circle of my years
     I swear I have found
     nothing that could exonerate me
     or explain me.

63. Monologue

f:   If spaces of gazing in stinging mists
     I wonder if you and the radiant footsteps
     that lead me to you, if the spell
     of the deep hibernation to which you confide
     not even the lie of a silence,
     oh vitrous gloom of deformed peel
     on the fruit conceived in babels of implants,
     a tooth of rock, a diamond, if that
     extreme grain of congealed life,
     seed, at breakneck speed in the veins, the sap
     in the suppurating sore, if sweat
     ingrown in the skin, if the plasma
     of origins in vials of craters,

     if they could be worth as much as

     the bone rolling in the wind
     bewitching of early autumn,
     it too a well-known sign,
     hieroglyphic on unlatched papyrus,
     feather of recluse time,
     whistle that was hushed too late
     in the whirlwind of ashes
     by the highest and most solemn delirium,
     and perhaps also superfluous:
     the skip in the circle, the plunge
     into nothingness, with open arms and 
     with closed eyes, of the setting sun
     that does not want to die.

64. Dialogue

m:   Beginning of illusion
     or lace of butterfly,
     the gentle white breeze 
     that encircles the mountains
     in a heart of steel?

f:   The footprints of our steps...
     two parallel stripes of dots
     that are lost on the dunes,
     that enter the fog
     of a zodiac of futures.

m:   Where we will discover tightly embracing
     the only way to speak to the world.

65. Intermezzo

"The tiny white stars

of a snow that will never melt,

the razor-sharp crosses that flow through the veins

slowly inside the core of the Earth,

and delusions of blue stones 

nestled in the depths of the sky "

thus, behind a shadow of golden stigmata,

the voice in the storm of the argonaut.

66. Dialogue

f:   Go on, go on
     in the memory,
     night, arrow of remembering,
     that darts from nowhere
     on all itineraries
     of my life, on the bare wires,
     on the laces soaked 
     with anonymous forms,
     on the scratched circles
     of our shivers.

m:   In the thorns of my eyes
     I have thrusted every sun,
     every horizon; in the
     lulls of my heart
     I hid all the lights
     of the roads that I have traveled.

 :   The iceberg floats on the light
     of this flower, standing up
     on the sod that begot it.
     The fiery mane gallops
     towards the center of the earth.
     The empty sleeve
     hangs from the cross.

f:   I will fling my scream
     into the fulgent roar
     of the fleeing flock.

67. Monologue

f:   Incandescent lattices 
     of pain,
     lightnings and phosphemes
     in the womb
     of life,
     crevasses damp
     with foam
     exhausted rattles
     of meaning,
     fossilized stigmata
     in the sealed ampulla
     on the decayed
     the wind ...
     the wind ...
     reliquiae and shipwrecks
     of history,
     of humans
     in the panic
     of convulsed pupils
     battered by the light,
     the quicksand
     of the aquarium
     of each of our,

68. Dialogue

m:      Exhausted by the pure sun of the hills,
        this journey in the transparent obscurity 
        halts on the threshold of the city.
f:      My fate in a different manner shall speak 
        to the dusty toy  
        of worn out snake skin 
        which, bearing my name and face,
        already thinks of sailing away
        like a star at sunset. 
:       I freed myself  
        from the tangle of inert arms 
        which exploited my body 
        for their macabre rites.
        Now, in the cold shroud 
        of this last darkness,
        just like the deep beat 
        of the heart, overflowing 
        with endless ripples, 
        runs on tinfoil waves 
        towards the free shore,
        louder thump  
        in the silence the distant steps,
        inexistent, on abandoned paths.

69. Monologue

m:   And the forests that we crossed
     holding hands, and judging
     the sins of angels holed up
     in leafy alcoves and bark crevices,
     absorbed in the flights of butterflies lit
     by dew in the wrinkles of the dawn,
     inside the veil of radiant mist
     that was climaxing amid the patient tremors
     of the breeze; at the deceptions of the shadows
     on the blond earth imitating the sound
     of the heart of swallows that migrate
     in the innumerable echoes of the flock,
     weaving, with the troubled trails
     of distant chimneys, sunsets
     and breaths of planets that we have
     lulled in ponds of kisses....

     And the scars we have reassembled
     in the mausoleum-style vaults of the countries 
     that we visited... Stealthily
     we have lived another life, the one
     that we were not supposed to live. It is this
     sky that cues us, these vipers
     of frost that twist themselves
     at the rainbow. The kite throbs
     blurred; the sun in rags, furtive
     under a curl of remote snow,
     is reflected in the fogged dial
     of your watch.

70. Dialogue

m:   We descended together
     in a sense
     into the center of the crater.
     We arrived together
     where we wanted to arrive.
     Everything is burned, lava.
     I caress you sobbing.

f:   A lone girl
     on the threshold ofthe world;
     who no longer has a name.

m:   A bright shiver 
     of butterfly, boundary
     of unfinished silences.
     I dip my lips
     into the warm mold
     of your cheeks,
     a hundred tiny fingers
     play with my face.
     I detach with my gaze 
     from the cluster of kisses
     a grape of saliva,
     honeycomb cell, crystal
     tanned by the primordial
     fire of a tear
     in the perfume of rose
     overflowing summer
     of one of your smiles.

 :   In the twin shadows, it subsides:
     the anguish of two virgin 
     breaths, shipwrecked in
     the memory, lulled in the beats
     of each other's hearts.

Third Part: Nil

71. Dialogue

m :     There is something important,
        on which my future depends,
        that I should tell you, but, I know,
        I will not find the courage 
        to tell you. 
        There: I told you.  
f :     Then you know where to find me,
        or anyway how to find me,
        or at least if to find me,
        if to run away from me or shun me,
        in that labyrinth of “ifs”
        in which you all got lost.

72. Dialogue

m:   Your cheeks burn
     the snow of your gazes.

f:   Balancing over labyrinths
     of virgin mirrors,
     our bodies speak to each other,
     exchange messages.

f:   A blizzard of syllables,
     tuned with the blinding
     whiff of life,
     rummages through the fragments
     of the shell
     of their embraces.

f:   They beat like elitra,
     the dull strokes of a pendulum,
     the ecstasy of an agony
     that is within time,
     eve of eves,
     climbing on the chains
     of darkness, beyond the fleeing
     void that encircles

m:   on that little white bed
     the glue of your smiles
     in the lightnings of dawn

f:   and your face that sinks
     into my eyes. 

73. Monologue

m :  Have I already become something
     that has been and will never be again,
     ever again?

74. Intermezzo

They counted

on this land

the moons.

They walked with the secret step

to pick thorns in the brambles

crackling on the rickety

scaffolds of their lives 

like a trickle of dried leaves,

syllables of light

as large as waves.

75. Dialogue

f:  Over there
    or nowhere:

m:  we don't know
    or don't want a domicile
    a permanent address,

f:  a postal code
    that pins us on the globe
    like an exotic insect
    in the entomologist's showcase. 

m:  The place in which we live
    is a perpetual falling
    through the looking glass
    into the life
    of someone else.

76. Monologue

m:  A golden thorn
    inn the diadem of your face,
    the damp fabric of the streets,
    arrows of time,
    the chaotic ticking
    of your heels on the sidewalk,
    the eyes, shaped like the crescent moon, of cats on the wire
    (your fingers sleep into mine):
    we are little candelabra tinkling in the dark
    while the earthquake is raging on,
    poisons distilled from fossils
    (fogs, childhood:
    the last voice
    that spoke to me
    before. now you,
    of many and never.
    now, deep down,
    everybody. now me, alive,
    and dead).
    The factory of hours erupts
    miracles from the chimneys.
    The blond resin
    that rained on the embers
    of the blaze
    is deep down only
    my life.

77. Dialogue

f:  Of this dawn the dream,
    at the mercy of inexhaustible swamps,
    we have left unfinished.

m:  Of not knowing who, what
    lurks on the other side,
    perhaps only a vast deserted
    Of not yet being exempt
    from the future. 

f:  And everything will be changed forever,
    to be the same again as always.

m:  The emptiness that slowly returns
    to extinguish me,
    to undo my being me.

78. Intermezzo

... everything melts and drains

gushing into the past

 ... no sign is left

of the moon in the sky;

the breath of the clouds

is water; and the returning wave

is no longer itself ...

79. Dialogue

m:   I advance slowly, hoping
     of never reaching
     my final destination,
     the dead-end beach of your love,
     the castle erected by your heart
     in the quagmire of mine's tenuous ashes.

f :  This is the only "forever" that I know. 

 :   Time has friezes and arabesques
     Burnished with futile lies.

80. Monologue

m:   Without the dimension
     of time. Time,
     the essence of the rose,
     became extinct in you. In time
     we are alone.
     We are the two pupils,
     lit in the darkness,
     of god; we are twin
     rays, entangled in the shivers
     of the pregnant foliage
     of millennial oaks;
     two flutters of wing from the nest
     basted in the hourglass,
     two chrysalises of buds
     wrapped in snowflakes;
     keys of the same keyboard.

81. Dialogue

m:      My secret singing to you
        a musical staff of kisses.

f:      I heard beating in my heart 
        the rhythm of your voice.

m:      The diamond 
        that will remain to swim 
        in the orchid lakes 
        of your eyes. 

f:      That evening  
        you took my hand, 
        and you’ve never  
        let it go. 
m:      Inside your eyes  
        how my thoughts poured! 
        on your lips,  
        how crumbled the sand 
        of my reason! 

82. Intermezzo

The barbwire of lights 

surrounding the bay  

ties the waves and the reefs  

into a pact of secrecy, 

a torture of reflections and debris  

that the giant seaweed of clouds 

propels towards the ocean.  

83. Dialogue

f:      Isn't life perhaps that which happens 
        behind our back unbeknownst to us 
        while we attempt to move away?

m:      Or perhaps the moving away itself?

:       Even in the ending 
        the beginning goes on. 

84. Monologue

m: Life is of us
    but what we are made of,
    the thought of which we are flesh.
    I throw my arms into the emptiness
    of the spaces that I smother,
    bird larger than the sky
    in which I fly: bird of prey
    and immortal, hero and toy.

85. Dialogue

:   The last wave has enveloped the moon,
    like a curtain. The angels, the puppets
    of metal, the victims, the scarred
    effigies, the masters of ceremony,
    disappeared in the wings of the stage.

m:  In the silence of reeds that we
    have built, like a hut
    on the island of shipwreck,
    I have taken by the hand the last jingle 
    of your voice, the tenuous navel 
    that will keep me alive until tomorrow, 
    until birth, until redemption.

:   Along labrador walls,
    sweaty still with sparks of wind,
    the mercury of night flows languidly,
    carving the bruises of martyrdom
    in the lurid flesh of the void.

m:  The skeins of light that we watch pass by,
    and vanish into the meanders of a day
    that does not yet exist, the stunted steps
    in which we search for traces of something
    that can belong to us, serve no purpose
    than to occupy the focus of the lens.
:   Follow their route with your gaze: 
    they enter from one end of the world, 
    from the obscene and crumbling mouth
    of the crystal idol, and come out
    from another end, clouds,
    dead leaves, fescues, everything
    that lives in the wind, without memory,
    and in memory. That is the secret
    that you two have come to unveil,
    in this city of sugar,
    where the ivory of the terraces
    and its shaded halo draw
    into a high and circular flight,
    continuous as the orbit of the planets,
    those nameless birds
    that from the ocean have come
    looking for crumbs and blades of grass.

86. Dialogue

m:  And we are not, in that, different from them;
    except that we stand motionless, contemplating
    the last pangs of the rubble,
    from the corner where we have found shelter,
    rather than flying over them in reconnaissance.
    Their ambiguity is our own.
:   Predators of dreams. Hooked beak
    and gathered wings, ready to snap.
m:  Not by chance, when I look at you,
    you smile at me, from the curl of your lip
    which afterward seems to crumple,
    over time, into a grimace of pain. 

 :  But this, in the circle already closed, is,
    believe me, another victory.
    The trembling and slender signal
    beyond the bolted door.
    Let us not hush even our lives.

87. Dialogue

 m:  A sharp wind of moon
     climbs on our faces
     an emptiness of drifting stars
     that crackles and winces
     on the tinfoil of dawn. 

 f:  It seals our two shadows,
     locked in the crystal ball,
     in the sympathetic ink of the code
     that we must decipher together,
     in the ancient call that leaves us;
     in the ash of Nativity
     of the immense forms of the shoreline,
     riddled by the silence of the mist:
     the drunken coachman, the virgin
     dragonfly, the fisherman of pearls.

 m:  The will-o'-the-wisps of the eclipse
     observe us and judge us
     from their gloom of vertigoes.

 f:  In the abstract game
     of the firmaments, between god and god,
     through the bloody ether
     like a deflowered hymen,
     in two sparks of our reflections,
     blind reverberations of an intercourse,
     I glimpse the absolute,
     and, at the bottom of all that darkness,
     in the blazing cliffs,
     struggling at the anchor
     the meaning.

88. Intermezzo

    The ash sparrow

    crumbling in a corner of the nest,

    the woodworm beating

    in bones of grave,

    the worms wandering

    inside the sleeveless coat

    wavering in the wind

    meek, drunk

    (and the bat's beak

    pinned to the top

    to its black skeleton?):

    ragged death

    that protects the field

    from the ravenous crows

    of sweaty seeds.

89. Dialogue

m:  I picked, today,
    a flower identical to you,

  : a dawn of petals
    nestled in the corolla,
    a shy shimmer
    of pollen of suns,
    a vertigo of colors
    that melted in the wind,

m:  a scent from long ago
    that I can't remember
    and that I can never forget.

m:  I chase
    in this burrow of time
    what will be left of you:

  : A swarm of tiny diamonds,
    a waft of dazzling thunderbolts,
    a breath of celestial bubbles,

 m: a refrain of waves
    stored in the treasure chest
    of one of your smiles 

  : in a space of mirrors,
    of emptiness of shell,
    of dreams to dream

 m: in the swamp
    of this life
    that doesn't know

  : that does not grant

90. Dialogue

f:  so far away
    and yet so close

m:  I have breathed the dunes
    of your hair,
    the sunshine of your eyes, 
    and the sea of your cheeks,
    I have seen something of you
    in every flake of the sky,
    I have heard your voice
    in every step of the stars.
f:  mirrors of an identical secret

m:  And everything has changed forever
    to be equal again to always.

91. Monologue

f:      Oh crumb of universe 
        mirroring yourself 
        in the annihilated blue 
        of my eyes, 
        each splinter that 
        you try to save  
        could finish you.  

92. Dialogue

m:   You gave me
     a second of eternity
     that now floods my chest,
     bleeds out my brain,
     overflows light and darkness
     in the imminent oblivion
     under shut eyelids.

f:  Worn-out amulet.
    Silenced exorcism.
    Unrecognizable seal.

93. Intermezzo

Truth is a sobbing

without tears, a moan

without sound, a whole 

of nothing and nobody.

94. Dialogue

 f: As we climb blindfolded 
    towards the summit of the sun,
    we are gripped by terror of the void:
    we recite in an obscene choir
    the names that emerged from sleep
    and that faded away in the dim
    swarming of the headlights.

m: From the sunken city I hear 
   the rattle cracking her lips 
   drenched with stars: 
   "tomorrow, tomorrow:
   let us not surrender like this!
   what have we got to lose?"
   Of this distances 
   we only know the ending.

f:  The parchment of my days 
    crumples crackling,
    but when touching the fire it reveals
    written with sympathetic ink
    the sings of another life.

 m: I read
    in the hieroglyphs of the sky,
    that soar in clusters
    and burn inside waters
    like pearls of a broken necklace,
    the prophecy that will plunge us
    from a sunset of absences
    to a dawn of presences.

 f: These lives judge
    the quality, not the quantity,
    of the world.

95. Dialogue

m:  They are coming to the midnight
    appointment, the ghosts of your past,
    the anonymous faces that inhabit 
    secret recesses of your mind,
    the zigzags of thought
    to which I abandon the drift
    of our silences, the ambushes
    that entangle
    the agitated current
    of your sleep.
f:  These tears
    that will never stop
    streaking my cheeks,
    this scream
    that will never stop 
    tearing apart my temples.
 m: I listen in solitude
    the dead wind, odorless,
    that batters me in waves
    and that I breath feeble
    and the echo that I decipher,
    choked with tears,
    in that memory lapse.
f:  These signs of love,
    red-hot stigmata
    that will make of my every breathe 
    an excruciating torture.

 m: I will only pass to Death
    the baton that I equally 
    carry with me, inside me. 

96. Intermezzo

From the quiver he draws a fire

arrow, stretches his bow

and glitters like a skull

his bright hook

on the leaden wall.

A bandana of clouds

on the moon's eye,

fierce pirate.

97. Monologue

m :     One thing we have understood 
        in the tears that we have
        dried on each other with kisses
        of cotton candy on cheeks 
        red with joy and shame:
        that more important is the cry
        that we have not yet cried!

98. Monologue

 f :    There is no page in me 
        that has not already  
        been written by you.  

99. Monologue

m:      Each of these tears 
        is another bit of you 
        that enters into me. 

100. Monologue

:       You girl fell asleep
        inside a word.  

101. Intermezzo

We, perhaps only

human, still seek it

that eternal thrill,

the throb in the universal


102. Monologue

m:      (Eternity is transparent:
        on the other side I see neither memory
        nor time). 
f:      There are no other places 
	that we can head to.
m:      (I shiver, alone, at the void) 

103. Monologue

m:      You are
        this poem, 
        and you are about 
        to end.  

104. Dialogue

f:      And your gaze
        which guided me 
        to meet the sun 
        like a flight of seagulls,
        now I lose it, 
        apparently forever, 
        in a wind of light, 
        violent and blinding. 
        not lighthouse but mirror;
        in a point inside you 
        that I can’t see, but I sense,
        a black hole in which I plunge 
        without even having the strength
        to see it reflected or magnified,
        but only capsized and faded;
        as if I lived inside binoculars,
        between one lens and the other,
        between two identical tears.   
m:      From you 
        I did not have 
        even the time of a smile;
        yet it was enough to understand
        how far I still have to walk,
        how far is what I am looking for,
        and how hidden from all the rest;
        how alive I am. 
f:      And finally 
        you will take me by the hand,
        along the faintest of sunrays,
        because this was perhaps
        our destiny, 
        to walk 
        where nobody else
        would even see 
        the path.  

105. Monologue


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