did you know
there's an island where
you can hunt people?;
free-range of course.
cruelty free.
but there's not a whole
lot of sport to it,
you stay up in a tree -
for days and days -
so that the animals can
become used to your smell.
'cause you dont smell
the same as they.
and they tend to sketch
out with ease, and often.

''I'm not convinced that I am doing it right." the little girl said,
And she tilted the glass so the insides slipped out.
The moon gazed down and shook his head,
"No, no, not at all, my dear, my sweet."
She hung her arms low, so her fingers grazed the soil.
"I'm trying, I'm trying!" the little girl moaned.
And from the dirt appeared a worm,
"Not enough, not enough." was all that she heard.

And down she fell to the ground in a heap.

Last evening  Adam came to me and said:
Listen, Dorian, let’s lay it on the table. In my garden
I have a house. It is yours, for free. All you have to do is
take care of the garden: cut the grass, get rid of the weeds,
Water the flowers, feed the wolves…whatever…pick up the leaves,
Maybe do a bit of to sweeping…ok?

I looked Adam into the eyes, I watched the way
he moved his bunch of keys, the way he had shaved his beard above the upper lip
and his snake leather trousers, his shoes.
And I said: Yes! With a hand on my hip and the other over my eye

Then Adam got into his car, opened the gates of paradise with the remote control
And I was left alone. I fell to my knees,
On the alley with snails and lemons,
Then I started to pull the weeds with my bare hands.

The sun was shining on my back, rather hard,
But I, charged
With bottles of water, was stronger than him.
Innocently, I set my mobile to play Mozart
And the butterflies hit my chest like a powerful love

The garden was flourishing under my hands. Even the sun was fawning under my knees
And the wolves were eating flower seeds and grass form my hands.
Then she passed, dragging by her bare feet a marble cross.
I ran and picked up the cross, until I managed to throw it over the wall.
She looked at me and said:
Glad to meet you. What is your name? I’m Marianne.
Then she went indoors, with a bag of snakes, in her arms.

Many years I worked at that garden. But Adam never came home.
(At times, from the house, I hear noises, scratching and cooing)
Sometimes, even in my sleep I hear his voice calling me:
Dorian, Dorian, where are you?
I am here milord…here I am.
What did you do?
Nothing, nothing at all..
Dorian, I have a house in my garden. Did I tell you?
Yes, Sir, you did…
And did I agree?
Yes, we both did.

Then, I see him darkening, opening the car door and getting in smiling

often you become bored with gorging yourself
with chocolate fingertips, preferring much her hand in marriage
but you never ask whether it be a digit gilded or cut
or whether the risk is for taking (i say **** up or shut up)

you don’t know the bruises of an ex boyfriend,
nor the shorthand breakup message she got out of the shower to:
picked up the phone and feel the blood rising only to have it all rush
to her stomach and push her lunch up

“she” is not me, you can’t treat her like
a paper bag practice round this time. treat the girl like fine ribbon
that tears at the slightest snare and melts at the longest stare
be not aluminum. be concrete, deliberate and always

I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
inside
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
as possible--
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.

the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.

finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
monotonous
jobs
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
break them
**** on them.

now I work for the editors the readers the
critics

but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
Bee
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.