Avevo scritto un commento, mi é sparito…
Vabbé, non erano parole fondamentali.
Comunque non ho resistito…
In this Bible of woodworms
foaming
the wisdom
in our mouth always
empty dive overflying
the sense of Universe
of actions of the laws of air
in the strict measure of thresholds
voices and words spinned upside down
we always in the same savageness
in the cardinal
blanks of our agelong fear.
By what thread and by what sign
in the name of who or in what
there’ s adherence to the penalty in
the sorrow included
which pierces
the eyes and the word splits
how one can say
for word for word
how deeply in the flesh our blood sinks us and in the whaler
of time sings our palate
of living oceans unhinging the plectrum beings as rivers
flowing as dizziness inside the turmoil.
When after centuries
in the multiplication of a punishment writing by a harpoon
and by a small hairpin matching
the lines in ink
in a parallel life we could say ourselves clever
we could say
ourselves competent
of the grief in a sure proportion
enlightening the remaining of the portion of the writ life
not only death still
makes obscure to us.