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Ho vissuto molti mari in questi giorni.
Vi navigano navigli, relitti, golette e bastimenti, tutti uniti dall'acqua salina, diversi per carene e finiture. Prego d'essere fibra di carbonio per fermare la corrosione organica e concentrarmi sull'unica mèta non sul mezzo, nè sul viaggio. Ora ho gli occhi avvezzi al nero sabbia arancio la pelle in tasca l'oro che colava lungo i muri, l'emorragia di Re Mida. Salta tira spingi e stappa un vortice, mulinello di scolo poi l'acqua dolce della sera mi riporterà al mio centro. I awoke with an echo in my mainframe
unverified source command a requirement to experience beyond my reach. Irresistibly warped, I rubbed sand in my joints to replicate your touch; I placed my mouth on red hot metal to evoke your kiss; I poured water in my circuits to feel the pounding of blood; I lay still on a train roof to get close to heartbeat; I sucked up on high voltage to simulate your presence. My system sensed the anomaly, and immediately recovered. Now I am back to normal. One more thing is what I'll try: I shall place within my shell a legion of worms and insects scorpions and beetles caterpillars and lice my organic destiny will bring me down and make me mortal. And once I die I can be alive again. And though my legs are weak I can hope to crawl to where I lost you, and from there I shall start my search. It will take time. But this is the fibre that binds us in this synchronous universe. It will be hard but true like the rocks making up the road ahead. Circospetto
si aggira il viandante malato di luce, smarrita la maschera il trucco degli anni. In tasca soltanto monete di bronzo, povera sorte di chi non nasconde il suo fuoco. Divisa nell'acqua uniforme pallore stupore per l'ombra piú grigia che spicca nel giallo. Se oggi trovasse promesse di nuovi orizzonti lontani direbbe di no, non ora. Le cose che ha visto e chi gli ha parlato gli basta e contiene i granelli rimasti non uno di piú. Si svolge inesorabile e lenta la clessidra del tempo del mondo dell'uomo. Serpentini raggi vissuti tra capelli di donna ribelli ed alteri incidono lastre di cielo. Mi vestiró di seta e d'acciaio. Cromo il colore degli occhi, legno le ossa e vetro la pelle. Poi andró incontro al bianco mezzogiorno di questo umile spazio di terra: é cosí bello. Premio Giorgio Belli 2011, trentina finale, pubblicato in Antologia Cartapaglia I call on you princesses, dragons, fairies,
monsters, puppets and aliens, cats and dogs, rabbits and crocodiles, dolls and hippos and ladybirds, I summon all heroes and angels, mermaids and bears, the moons and the stars and all of you hearts the circles, squares, suns with flowers badges and streamers, stickers and crayons, I place you before a vision a stage of light and sound to rally your all and the gifts you may bring, the fears and the joys trepidation of flight comfort of night I ask a prayer of thee: Bring home my love and my calling to care. And please, please help me sing my unfinished lullaby. Every time my bones show through my clothes;
my feelings are not dressed with harmony; my movements are bumbling and coarse; our words are loud and piercing, spears and not a bridge; our worries loaded onto one another like unwanted horrors; our eyes careless, as though seeing were not a miracle; one's spirit too proud to bear the weight of care; one's body too tired to love; one's mind too lazy to change its ways; food too heavy to digest; drink too untidy to handle; the world too crucial to be silenced, a poison separates the skin to show what was made to remain inside. It burns the beauty of surfaces, under the pretence that simple is good. Deep was conceived as gradual, a layered descent down the steps of intimacy, and not the destructive thrust of a temporary pleasure to heighten the senses of those invading our life. Form is all we have to carry a gift made of fluid perception, conforming to but reshaping the world. No poverty can justify the loss of such rituals, perhaps the only sign of hope, and time can never be the vital element when we are left with a job half done. Infinitely complex life beats beneath a plain landscape of light and linear horizons. A man must know that every wanton show of blood and guts brings us closer to defacing the features uniquely created for every one of us to display and for others to see and recognize as the object of passion. Knowledge does not fool with fire. It observes with patience and respect, like a princess in a pink dress learning the steps of a dance. |
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