a contradiction contracted in
lowest terms are
you.
[it’s metal edges]

your beauty is
of
a
garden
(suspended at mid-
clouds), to enter
and

to say

that in such a
variety of
flowers
there
can not
be
one that
attracts
you

to pick it

to dismantle it
and
to
neglect
the
rest.

[it’s plasticized segments]

you know how to
quickly imprint
yourself
on me

when

you laugh
at times
and
conversely
you weep
and

you are like

those skies
that shake me
to my core

when

they are
blinding
on one hand
and
violently bleak
on the other

so

clearly
fractured
they shake
me pierce
me
pierced
i am
by

you.

[it’s just thinned points]

imagine if
a chameleon
started
to
acquire
each
gradation
of
another
creature
in the form
already
similar
to
it:

where
could
he
ever
escape?

[it’s inconstant semicircles]

(i can not
delineate
you
it is like
sketching
a tidal
wave
nobody
can:

painters

invent them)


[and it’s shoved arches]


i’ll tell you
of
a
woman
her soul
shattered
and

subsequently

imprisoned
splinter by
splinter
in hail
stones

she

fell
and
she felt
herself
crashing
at the same
instant
millions
of times

however

she
never
went
insane.

[it’s torn curves]


(and I know well
how a continuity
interrupted
succeeds
to make
you
fumble
convulsively
but it’s not
enough
for me to
restrain
myself
don’t
ask
me
to)

[it’s petrified vertical axes]

what i see
is
a cross
section of
enclosure
handfuls with
disconcerting
efficiency
consisting
of prisms
and

you know how to decompose

yourself inside
an innocence
delimited
you proceed
by inconstancies
you lacerate
metabolizing
you struggle
silencing
and

i could
only
teach you
one thing:

gray is not
a faded
version
of
black.

Stranger
Sometimes I think I
Want you so bad that even if I was
Never capable to call you mine, it would
Still be Ok; because wanting you is the
Sweetest torture one could ever
Imagine, in fact it is: out of
Imagination, far from control and
Absolute like a blaze in
A cold winter night.
Stranger, I have built so many
Labyrinths of letters just for your
Pleasure, and you have always
Followed me there because
There’s nothing in this world you
Love more than losing yourself
However: what you
Don’t see is that
Words are my
Hiding place
And it is by
Following my
Trail of letters that
You’ll never be
Able to find
Me, so:
stop
it.
Come
And seal
My lips with a kiss
Find me, so I will stop
Running away from your ways
Because this time I want you
To lose yourself under my
Skin, deep inside
My body.
Stranger, let my fingers
Trace new fables
Over your spine
Let my hands
Reveal my secrets
Let my eyes build more
Castles than my words will ever
Do, because my body is my
Finding place and
This time
I want you
To finally
Reach
Me.

The city was turning
Into a mirror.
You were trying to move as little as possible
Fearing variations more than anything.
The essential — now —
Consisted in not disturbing.
The cold was eating your legs, your cheeks
You were calm and wanted to go away
What was left to hold you back?
Your heart was burning and nightmares were
Surrounding your hair.
You were looking down, looking
For your own ankles
You were paying attention to the echoes,
Searching for
Someone who would grab your arm
You only wanted to hear a no
— and it was not coming.
You were hoping for some
It’s not true
— and it was not coming.
The dart had been shot
Punctual and similar to bees
Poison
It was getting you sick
You were struggling to survive
While hoping, however, to die of it.
It would have never killed you.
The smell of flowers was vanishing,
The city had turned into a mirror.
Now you could only cover your eyes.

All is well except
That the wall is made
Of perspex, transparent
And her wings hit against it without
Making any sound
While
The rift she treasures on her sternum is
Cicatrizing under the sun at seven o’clock
In the morning, while
The smell of flowers is piercing through the path of cold and
The smell of ***, the memory of the stolen candle, twenty
Meters running under the pouring rain, inside
My ears, the city is swimming in
The dark
And it’s ours.
Dismantled.
It hurts.
The taste of the broken tooth, the
Badly stitched dream, and no need to say it:
the waiting.
While the hand is pushing, the shouts
Are drawing strange vortexes
Under the hair and
The air continuously recycled
Is ingesting
Massive amounts of
Darkness
As
You advance
Defying the butterflies
Adjusting your heel
From time to time.

The smell of iron at 9:19 am, disgusting
Unresolved, I
Would have given you the palm of my hands, there
Was a parade of objects in hibernation, and
The wire was made of plastic
I couldn’t
Walk, Tiburtina
Railway station blew up around me, the
Upside-down lilies hanging and dangling, you
Were sewn inside
My chest and pushed
Broken
You were breaking my ribs, shrieked, I
Was thinking about your hair
The embrace
The window
The cat
On the other windowsill
(As if he knew)
And you
Moving forward in the smell
Of the smoke, expanding
And she
Keeping on, she was filling up
All the cans
Was labelling and talking and talking
Pretending she had never
Existed, she
Had been
Transfigured
Hidden inside the white, she
I miss you, you kept saying, it
Couldn’t be done.
Don’t you understand?
It couldn’t be done.

The moon asleep in the well under
The surface of the blackwater, four
Stars of steel and a badly done
Impersonation of my-
Self,
Erase and compensate
Repeated his voice from the bottom
Of the glass, you
Were shining
You said it again
In Neverland there’s no more room
For the Lost Boys
And she - the moon in the well - had
Lost her lips, removed
Her cuticles
One after the other, she had
Consumed a few names
From the wings of the doves, there
Was no more vision, no more dreams, it was
A realm of shadows, no
Lament was rising
To the ceiling, blood was coming
Back modulating itself in clots, no
Punches
Only water
A lot of water inside
The well, where the moon asleep used to
Lie
Staring at the sky
The bars
The coins
You were shining, locked outside
Collecting
The smell of iron, the colour of dice
A heart broken in a thousand valuable gems, a small
Horse, fragments of coal, your *******
The moon in the well was drowning, was crying, it
Couldn’t be done,
Here is what.
It couldn’t be done.

You are sitting with your family for lunch. They
Are talking, passing food, laughing and you are watching them
Through the glass of your corneas. You watch them while you are
Busy keeping yourself afloat; you are floating and wondering why
There’s no jellyfish all around your head, and it amazes you that oceans
Are not silent as you thought they’d be. It amazes you that you are able to
Smile and nod and breathe and pretend you are paying attention when all you
Are thinking is how to keep your feet still, your hands from shaking, your legs
From leaving the room, so you cross your arms and smile again.
When you watched Pacific Rim you thought it was about the way you inhabit
Your own body, like wearing a dress you don’t fit in, like having so much room
Inside your empty spaces that you take a lot of time just to say
Hello, because it’s a long way just to reach your mouth and speak up.
You think nobody could ever understand what all of this means.
In fact, for a very long time, nobody will know.
Let me tell you what’s going to happen to you: someone will hold you like you
Mattered; they will hold you like you are precious, and they will kiss your cheek
Firmly. They will press their lips on your cheek and make it last for two seconds.
When you two will part, you will start to shake. Now, listen to me carefully:
You won’t shake because they matter. You will do it because
This is more affection than what you had in a lifetime. You will be
Overwhelmed because you are not used to be held like that
And you are desperately hungry.
You will shake because it hurts.
You will question the extent of your damage
And think it’s worrying but there’s a detail you’ll fail to
Notice: for two whole seconds you haven’t thought of the oceans.