Show me how well you still know how to dissimulate the doubt
How much courage you have to bet your dreams on slot machines

Be the one who helps me believe in the miracle of your existence
When I grow tired

You know I am good in crafting the nostalgia
And I feel the need to invent alphabets for you

We remained the only ones who still wash their hands after touching the garbage
We are the only mortals left among invulnerable stone-people
Floating over time’s waves like two boats pushed by a cynical wind

Let’s play a chess game
You will open the match with the horse
Me, as usual, with the bishop…

From my point of view we are equals
There is no place in our game for victims and executioners
And that’s why I will let you win

We’ll love each other peacefully, with no tears and no refuges
You might be amazed that I am a woman
But you will be glad to hear I prefer to be you than to have you

I could fall I could bleed
You don’t have to feel guilty for it

Not even for this chess game
In which you are the king and I the jester

In which you want to win and I want you to win
And eventually we come to a draw…


The unhappened lives

Here among the reservoirs of rain water
Among churches of dust and trams
We carry on our unreal life
We drag it from one day to another

Somewhere our lovers, our unmet, our disappeared ones
Are carrying their illusory burden like a putrid wood in their back

The ghosts of desire troop
Between yesterday’s and tomorrow’s loneliness

Here each one has his personal sun
Here, among claxons and garbage cans, among barrels and trams
A child cried a thousand years ago

Heaven’s snow fell down on our shoulders

Then the wind took you away
I left on the last subway

Blind times gobble the bones of faded moments

And we have to endure the amnesia
The taste of ashes the lateness the noise the mud

And the unreal voices
The unheard news
The unmet faces

The unhappened lives
Harassing our souls…


Winter song

Outside, the bones of the world crackle and hum a gaunt music
The feeble horizons fall down
In the power of the night
The Winter’s spirit fills up our souls
With plenty of tunes

Keep me in your arms, who knows how much of the story is left for us
Who knows what winds will blow us apart
What chill will freeze us
What stars will fade away in our hearts
What grim season will flay our music

Hold me, keep me inside the dream
Hide me from your storms and fire

Hide me from your darkness.


Cigarette smoke

I saw a stranger looking at me with your eyes
I saw a child with fingers like yours
I embraced a tree with the shape of your body
You spread out everywhere like a handful of salt in a glass of water

Sometimes I dream of houses with closed shutters
And I guess your presence inside them
Lapped in cigarette smoke
I feel you there breathing
Gliding your fingers
Over the body of a stranger.


Evening’s edge

The sun was guiding our thoughts to the hills of sadness
We used to encounter the night with burning matches
The darkness was sliding under our feet

How beautiful we were with our nicked knees
With our dusty foreheads
With our sand-like voices
With our salty smiles

I used to talk to the grass while you were warbling an sad song
From time to time I shook down the birds from my hair

If we could make this summer pass in slow motion!

I’d like to be immured like in a tower on this evening edge…
There where the souls are melting

The wind was gabbling a sad song
The shy was mumbling something in the tongue of autumn
The leaves were falling over us like staring eyes
My heart was captive in a cage of fog
I couldn’t speak
My words were coming out of your mouth.



Remoteness is measured in time
Happiness in pain-years.



I am half bull half toreador
Thousand of hands are rinsing their applauses in my blood
The angst’s ivy assaults me with small nervous flowers
A part of mine will crush the other
The enthusiasm doesn’t count more…



The town
Had thousand of faces dressed one in another
But none of them was true

His prisoners for an hour or for a life time
Were like burning candles locked forever
In the cages of memory.


The abandoned gardens

I was alone at one of the crossroads when you passed by
Dressed in the shirts of the wind
You looked for me with a lamp of stone
Your sights were pointed to the desert gardens

I was burning my words to lighten your face

There was a hatch to the sky somewhere
I was the only one who could see it

We fed ourselves with the blood of melancholy
There must have been something more
A God to share with each other

But we had just a dying angel
Tattooed on the chest with the stigma of all fears…



I couldn’t touch you
You were immured in my heart like in a grave
Every evening I used to get undressed
And, in your absence,
I was making love to the sunset.


The jester

Because I am very polite and restrained
I will tell you only this:
I always appear in the wrong moment
And take on the heretic’s cross
Even though I am, in fact, the one who deals the cards…
I am the scapegoat everywhere and every time
Mine is the hand that rips the winning ticket
My name is that one bleeding on every ruined wall
Mine is the livid face that spies you from the mirror
And also mine the gun shutting the snakes in your nightmares
I’ll come one day in your backland
Too see your cemetery of birds
Till then I’ll keep desiring you, lying on an iron bed
Immaculately dressed in white waist coat
And I will keep the silence so intense
That you will be able to hear my muteness from your backland
Realizing how I spell your image
How I hum your beauty
Comfortably sat on the electric chair
You know that nowadays all clowns
Have been deported to asylum
But this is only the good side of things
I used to be God’s jester and I am still in pain…



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