Journal of Italian Translation

Piazza Nicolai-Merwin-Lecomte-Rosselli-Bigon
It’s a constant alarm clock; a lethal compromising
a fruitless caption, and a cross wind
while batting my eyelids I formulated a
tangled wisdom
I plan to do away with forms, their
whispers, their contents containing
entirely the strangling box of my soul that
indifferent to the problem would do well
to contain itself. Toys are streets and
nurses are habits destroyed by
a general sickness.
The gully of the mountain cleanly offered itself to
my wish to continue my undecipherable lie
like the cigarettes I smoke
*
Passion justly devoured me
passion powerfully divided me
passion wisely brought me back
I wisely brought myself back
to the passion with words, a beginner
in the dark wood of a boring
obligation, and the burning passion
to sit at the table with the great ones
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