13 de abril de 2014

Giovanni´s dream

ad terrorem increscentis audaciae

A child with hands painted black
draws the lines
of unsoothing clouds

Like spiderwebs
or fingerprints
they come together

What is the mist now
if not traces of grey
almost unseen?

Bring your nose
closer to the gloss

Did you just rip
a page from the book?
There´s an eye
peeping in the dark

In different backgrounds
we become other things
Threads of hair
pull us further down

Smells of confinement
break through the floor

Whatever we touch
dissolves into music from the right end
of a piano,
comes in through the ears, taking with it
all traces of thought

How much night can the day have?
Deer, covered in crow´s fur,
walk up and down infinite stairs
that lead nowhere

The thread
hangs from the corner of their eyes,
falls loaded with vertigo
through dense wholes of petrol

Then melts into suspicious lava
that drips from the corner
of the mouths of the bricks
on the walls

Piranesi was never a prisoner,
yet he drew imaginary jails. 

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