PYRAMID OF DIGNITY

PYRAMID OF DIGNITY

This isn’t the caress of the renounce!

Perhaps in the ashes

Heart’s moon

Haven’t I searched

Corners of light?

Perhaps in motes

Of aim’s fire

Haven’t I met

Outlines without heat?

In the obscure reticule of time

There is only…. vertigo and enigma.

I played with the sun

Among devoid branches

And mutilated shoot

…..Imprisoned in the water

I have felt

Drops of weeping

Among rows of cross

In the cuirass of my

Weak and phlegmatic thoughts.

It isn’t the crystal of quiet

That doesn’t enflame the rudders

Of heart’s embers

It’s the stagnation of poison

Which petrifies the scarves

Dreams’ froth

The force of my viscera

is…

Lava,

White fire’s root

Pyramid of dignity.

CHIMERA

Languor’s obscure

Mutilated

In the empire de decadence

Of manly heart

I am your own son,

Chimera

Sick by a divine echo.

I have of lucumon timbre

Perhaps only the wheeze

I feel

For ancestral nostalgia,

Me dismayed,

roaring in

An heroic and indomitable warier..

My chest, Chimera,

I put on

The earth’s rite

My courage’s seed

Of nature’s empire

Give , o Mother,

To your new Tuscan son,

A new austere spirit

Which of Etruscan song

Will be worthy.

CASTAWAY

Born by an unhappy god

Alone I promenade

Among stars’ quiver

Through paths

Of cypress and of thorny fruits…

Among nightmare’s woof

Lost….

Burned by the sun

Between dream’s shreds

I have walked

And pain’s embryo

Many steps I have traversed

By begging

Among memories’ galleries

By yearning for infinite

Steps’ advancing is silent..

Between Odysseys and storms

I slide

Through the obscurity

Like a castaway

Drunk of shadows.

LOVERS

Clear is your skin

Down moon’s caress..

Down my hot naked

fleshes

Your hands…

In your silk depths

Fingers’ heat

Among the wind

Our pangs are

Wet of dew

By ignorant fruits

Of marguerite

We are excited

We…

Thirsty lovers

Like naked leaves.

TWENTIETH CENTURY

The moon

Ephemeral crystal

Of decadence

Among rusty bars

Of archaic memories

Placid and languid

Expanses

Its melancholy.

Nothing other than

the sun’s dead body

Twentieth century,

You pick up!