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"cercare" poems
Avrei voluto sentirmi scabro ed essenziale siccome i ciottoli che tu volvi, mangiati dalla salsedine; scheggia fuori dal tempo, testimone di una volontà fredda che non passa. Altro fui: uomo intento che riguarda in sé, in altrui, il bollore della vita fugace uomo che tarda all'atto, che nessuno, poi, distrugge. Volli cercare il male che tarla il mondo, la piccola stortura d'una leva che arresta l'ordegno universale; e tutti vidi gli eventi del minuto come pronti a disgiungersi in un crollo. Seguìto il solco di un sentiero m'ebbi l'opposto in cuore, col suo invito; e forse m'occorreva il coltello che recide, la mente che decide e si determina. Altri libri occorrevano a me, non la tua pagina rombante. Ma nulla so rimpiangere: tu sciogli ancora i groppi interni col tuo canto. Il tuo delirio sale agli astri ormai.
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940
Mediterraneo
I walked down the drive from the abbey to stand near the road and listened to the traffic pass by before the office of Compline began, obcidi, moonlight in the dark sky and stars sprinkled like sugar, smell of incense in the church after Mass overwhelming, a monk with a black patch over one eye like a pirate stood facing me in the choir book in hand head lowered, begin doing what is necessary then what is possible and suddenly you are doing the impossible Francis said, Dieu est ici the French monk said pointing a bony finger towards his chest as we trod up the drive from our weekly walk, Gott ist überall an Austrain monk said not just in the heart and soul, George hoed the abbey gardens and said the sun is so hot it's like a desert out here and it was and we were thirsty, Hugh thin and gaunt said to be a saint one must do the ordinary extraordinary well which he never did or so seemed, give the apples a twist so the monk said do not pull them off and I watched his fingers touch and twist, and she lay there naked as the day she was born and asked me to shaft her so I did and her husband was driving on a long haul, wise men talk because they have something to say fools because they have to say something Gareth said quoting Plato, the abbot tapped his small hammer on his bench and the meal was over and the reader stopped mid sentence reading from the book and the refectory was in silence before prayers were said, I lay with her and she mouthed me whole, cercare di essere salvati the Italian monk said to me as I weeded the flowerbeds in the cloister garth, try and be saved listen to the word, some days I wished to take flight and begone like some wild flapping wings bird.
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Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
LIKE A BIRD 1971.
I walked down the drive from the abbey to stand near the road and listened to the traffic pass by before the office of Compline began, obcidi, moonlight in the dark sky and stars sprinkled like sugar, smell of incense in the church after Mass overwhelming, a monk with a black patch over one eye like a pirate stood facing me in the choir book in hand head lowered, begin doing what is necessary then what is possible and suddenly you are doing the impossible Francis said, Dieu est ici the French monk said pointing a bony finger towards his chest as we trod up the drive from our weekly walk, Gott ist überall an Austrain monk said not just in the heart and soul, George hoed the abbey gardens and said the sun is so hot it's like a desert out here and it was and we were thirsty, Hugh thin and gaunt said to be a saint one must do the ordinary extraordinary well which he never did or so seemed, give the apples a twist so the monk said do not pull them off and I watched his fingers touch and twist, and she lay there naked as the day she was born and asked me to shaft her so I did and her husband was driving on a long haul, wise men talk because they have something to say fools because they have to say something Gareth said quoting Plato, the abbot tapped his small hammer on his bench and the meal was over and the reader stopped mid sentence reading from the book and the refectory was in silence before prayers were said, I lay with her and she mouthed me whole, cercare di essere salvati the Italian monk said to me as I weeded the flowerbeds in the cloister garth, try and be saved listen to the word, some days I wished to take flight and begone like some wild flapping wings bird.
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85
Sento il respiro denso, Avido cerca aria. Sento i Pensieri Frenetici e convulsi, Eccitare il mio ansito Sento la mente fluttuare, Dispoticamente velocizza I miei fragili pensieri, Quali come delicato vetro, Cadono, Frantumandosi, Sento la luce cercare spazio tra l’oscurità, Raccoglie con ponderazione, I cocci frantumati del mio essere. Sento il mio io egemone, Concedermi la forza, Frantumare con calma, la mia malattia, Riattare la mia essenza, di essere Umana.
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Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 4:46 PM UTC
Tornado cerebrale Pt. 1
** cercato di mettere insieme i pezzi del puzzle, ** raccolto ininterrottamente tutti quei pezzi di vetro e chiodi arrugginiti che  insieme formano un risultato miserabile ma finalmente onesto, almeno alle apparenze, quel tanto che basta a quietare parzialmente quel bisogno di cercare le tracce nel fango per potersi ritrovare sul giusto percorso. sento le mani sporche e il cuore meno pesante di prima, non sono felice ma posso crogiolarmi in quella sensazione di vittoria amara del sapere di aver avuto sempre ragione, una corona senza alcun valore. la lingua va a cercare perennemente il punto doloroso della bocca, stuzzicandolo, ed è così che continuo a riaprire vecchie ferite di cui non mi sono mai mai dimenticata.
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Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Untitled