for I am alone and unloved.
I have some of your facial features,
I laughed aloud
as if I were entering a bat cave,
but it was not laughter that a happy being
stretched out due to joy,
it was desperation, it was torture.
Even now I grin, but bareheaded and alone,
I keep hiccoughing and do vomit on occasion,
right here in this tiny nylon bag.
Want some? No?
I have criteria.
I know the nature of doubt.
The whirlwind of trickery
an endless number of smaller whirlpools
of seemingly irrelevant events
I and my doubt became one.
A stone of crude profile rolling
and gathering various bits and bobs.
But this was far before…before…
WEEPS. CONTINUES AFTER A FEW SECONDS WITH A CALMER VOICE.
I have complicated my own life
with freelance work,
And more oil paintings, Vincenzo for instance.
Hungover from work and sunken from the anguish,
with sunken cheekbones from leaning them on the wrist
of my weary hand,
with my head like a lid of a burnt saucepan
flailing with the night where my butchery voice pierced the heavens.
I escaped under the sight of an ax
Seeking for a spot where it could drive its blade
and lay bare any hidden molars
under my golden hair.
The woolly hat on my head was undergoing
and took on the shape of a well-coiffed
Assessing the sufferer, only to jump into his lap
and take off another chunk of meat.
a bit slim, but still gracious
I growled silently, but pleased.
– And the wife?
– Left on a short trip,
My wicked thing. I must go home, my wife is in that ashtray waiting.
But that was far before…before…