La foto al buio dopo la pioggia d’estate

Il colare di grondaia divelta,
contorno della mia batisfera
il sale nero,
cerco il remo
per fermare il riflesso del sole che non fu
eroso dal fango,
in un ricordo perfetto.

Annego gli occhi in faccia
per colpa di un latente panorama dei miei nervi

Chiudo la mano vuota,
solo per prova,
e le atmosfere si moltiplicano
si appoggia sulla guancia
il palmo dell’oceano
e fumano le braci,
sono lava, sono pietra
il dolore
è cartilagine
è l’ancora
solo un àncora.


So, this happens:
get some happiness and curl it in a ball
then I’ll eat it, whole
till it falls
in the chambers of my stomach
and there, plof, sounds,
as it sinks in the pool
of this phisically inconsistent liquid.
That’s my sadness
and soon the sweet gets sour
and the ball dissipates
and I only remember to be grateful
this has happened.
Then it starts:
the sadness starts to swell
and makes some waves
and it tells me it wasn’t time
then it says my time has ended.

I drown from inside every time I get a little happy.

Bank Holiday at the shop/Pasquetta al lavoro

“Why are you laughing?”
“Because I just realised how much my life sucks.”
“Oh, so you’re laughing because of that.”
“No, I’m laughing because I instantly conceived the moment in which I’m talking to a customer and I stop the conversation by saying ‘one second, you just made me realise how much my life sucks’.”

“Perché ridi?”
“Mi sono appena reso conto di quanto la mia vita faccia schifo.”
“Ah, quindi ridi per questo?”
“No, rido perché mi è venuta in mente la scena in cui fermo una conversazione con un cliente a metà dicendo ‘un secondo, mi hai appena ricordato quanto la mia vita faccia schifo.”


I’m in bed at night
but my thorax is on fire
there’s a blood red light
bursting out of my ribs
and no clothes that can stop it

– no paper

Got work in the morning
my alarm is set already
but this heart is not sleeping
I need the blinds well shut
a whole neighbourhood is resting
and they need it, I can bet
they might get upset
if a bat signal floods out of my window
and writes on their sky
the words cracking my mind
to the core
has anybody seen my love?


Ho imparato che il karma non esiste, stanotte,
ho fatto i conti:
ho messo tutto ciò che ho fatto – di bene – su un piatto
e poi il male su un altro, per calcolare il netto.
Anche proiettando cento anni sempre meglio,
e se in altri fossi stato, più volte, un santo
due volte un genio, e un bel bandito ogni tanto,
la soluzione è che non c’è equilibrio
quando dico
che mi sono meritato un solo giorno lì con te.

My heart’s electrons

I tried to put my heart inside a drawing, but I can’t draw, so I used calligraphy, and tried to get the scorched earth around me in a reasoned map of the sense I’m losing.
I tried to tell a picture of a feeling of a love that digs inside me and will forever like ____, Or just how simple was the genius of ____, who got in like it was home and looks out peacefully, unlike ____ from her tower asking me to lead the way, while _____ crushes me against her like a black hole. And when I breathe I look at distant stars, ____ in her movie, ___ in her music, and where are you know ___? And further still, the crushes I dream on when I like to, like ____ the liar, and ___ the model and ____, of course you know her, you all.
And how my love looks much like atoms do, I know where you might be but it’s not at all exact, I can pencil down a line and then thicken it with chalk: this is where you probably are right now, I can’t pin you down much better.
And so all of those lines are names I’m keeping silent, because they know me and I know them, but I still cannot explain and they haven’t understood how my heart works, how it’s shaped, how it beats. That’s my drawing, my calligraphy, my words: don’t think you’re ever missing, you are all here anyway.img_20180212_232031411.jpg