Journal of Italian Translation - Brooklyn College - Academic Home ...

Federica Santini - Robert Simon / Amelia Rosselli
I dressed up as a priest of poetry
but I was dead to life
the innards that are wasted
in a tussle
from it you die swept away by science.
The world is subtle and flat:
A few elephants wander in it, obtuse.
***
The origin of caotchuc
I see a portrait
That was mine on the paneled wall,
small roses (masturbated drawings)
the wall that in its yellowish evening light
seemed to fade my body.
Sensual organs that within the mind transmute
ensnare the memory with phrases
crowded together these hormones, with this
face of bruises.
Miserable emptiness, swallowing that bitter pill
convincing spaces
cavern
of toothpastes, cold throbbing shoulder
casualty, arrow or boardwalk
that I can’t see while seated.
Fixing mad reserved eyes toward
your joints of wax
that being
wax dolls have not eyes.
Christ sleepless spreading habits...
oh breathless heart
from your wide chestnut blades oh poor
dutiful heart.
Oh poor dusty heart!
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