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Written in Hotel des grand hommes, New York.
Visitations by private beguilers, varied in beauty.
None, whom will I palm?
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Thinking into the anchoring silence with a view as broad as a rumour.
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They are pointing the finger at me
the smoking barrel,
the cracking windshield,
I was going far into the obscenity of a good story
then ending up in a limpid sentence.
Oh, volare!
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Their pearls have their own minds,
they say,
‘Fill up your pockets in dignity,
your origin is a safe.’
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In a series of images and sensations that only occur during deep sleep
The marble admiral shows me her left breast
it works like a mouth,
the same contraption
that captures honest men.
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A vast army of 9 months.
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9