The sun's ray's
In my heart
And body
Pierce the window panes
I feel pain
I'm going in-
Sane\sanity is lame,
What's your name
Señorita, sènor?
I can't hurt
Not any
More.

a strong bora
sends the boats in the port
rocking and clanging

people keep clutching
their hats
tightly to their heads
their skirts to their thighs

we take windblown photographs
of each other
before the harbor bay

the wind is not as wild
as on the funny drawings
on those picture postcards
that show everything flying
   through the air

but things are bad enough
to bring tears to your eyes
and to make us turn our backs
on the rest
   of Trieste
and dry our eyes
over coffee and coke
in a small bar
   around the corner

           * *

lost in alien space
Italians
posted their home culture
and worked for it

today

the Americas
     (and the whole western world)

would starve to death
   without pasta  pizza
  
and Michelangelo

If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen!

fierce
   fierce
blows the wind
   across this island
   off the coast of Africa
  
sittting on the ***** of a volcano
I keep listening to the sound of things

street signs clatter to each other
empty beer cans roll noisily
   through midnight streets
doors keep slamming
   to make their presence known
plastic bags hiss airily
and fly away
   like they never thought
   they could

the ears
of the little dog that thinks
   I am his master
stand at odd angles
while he is grooming himself
   on my lap

warm bodies
in a blustery place

the patio chair
   scrapes its way
   across the tiles
   inch by windy inch

my wine slushes in the glass

I share fiesta music
   from half a mile a way
   coming to me
   in gusty fragments
and almost feel the rush
   of low clouds chasing each other
   under a star-studded sky

here I am
on the ***** of a volcano
listening to the sounds of the world

                  * *

last night
I had a thought
that felt like it might turn
into pure poetry

I clung to it
and tried to make it stay
and grow

but it went on its way

and I to sleep

nothing but memories to keep
   of possibilities

when the loud beep of my alarm
woke me to other thoughts
and yet another day

quipping maliciously
the learned scholar
outdid himself
and keeled over backward
into a huge barrel
of seething criticism

the howto
             is a mighty force
             it tells us
                with authority
             how to
             best navigate the world
             appropriate to the occasion
            
             from love to cars to finances
             it guides us
                to the proper steps
            
             and yet
             it somehow fails
             to say  
             why
                if we follow the directions
             we feel like children
             rather than adults
            
             why
                when all wisdom
                has been eagerly applied
             we still don't know
     why
                 our hands and feet
                 are tied

dating a poet is fun,
and you'll learn things about yourself,
that you never knew.
but when you leave her,
you'll be the one who's broken.

you see,
she'll break you down
into bits and pieces-

she'll carve rhymes
into your rib cage
and
she'll make your kisses
into pentameters.

your voice becomes her rhythm,
and each color in your eye
forms a stanza.

you become pieced together
and poorly stitched,
because she's taken out
the very best parts of you
and the very worst.

she's taken you,
and cut out her favorite parts,
and she'll promise to put you back together,
but the funny thing is,
she never learned to sew.

my friends said last night
I should write something light
something shiny and bright
to the readers’ delight

no fights and no terror
no soldiers no war
no suicide bombers
no refugees galore

after all   it’s the season
when altogether we sing
of the love that we bring
to each other
    within reason

so I am doing my best
NOT   to make a clean breast
    of the worries that plague me
cuddle deep in my nest
only welcome the guests
who brings me good news
and carefully wipes
all bad cues from their shoes
ere they enter my house

so  
to rouse our good feelings
we all listen to the chimes
of the church bells a-pealing

and to a poem that rhymes

Let me hold you,
Let me feel your warmth while it still lasts.
Let me cry out how awful my day went,
from the two hours delay due to traffic to tons of paper works in the office.
And how I missed a lunch meeting because of a mishap in the site.
Yet let me dry my tears first before my sleepiness takes me away,
And believe in the idea
that you will always be there for me, hugging me so tight at night