| Rome
The March of Triumphant Arches Among Ruins
[neorealism and dream, ecstasy and hemorrhage, lives squat
like
dandelions among ruins of power carrying
time in quadrigae
marble
and imperial columns
trembling gardens are
born from the seep of the brick
arcane
battles sustains the vibrant row
the shroud is irradiated
by Ascension
the
sun leaves heavy shadows in the Palimpsest]
Descending the hills you can feel the thrill, the penetration into
the eternal caged by the seven fortresses.
The car eats up the asphalt under our illusions
and the expansive gasoline swells up the glands of the past.
Rome ecstasy
and
hemorrhage
Mars is born from a flower only to become the god of war,
from golden ages to iron will and lust,
the defeated peoples' bleeding through the carotids of their
beheaded kings, heads rolled onto the streets full of secretions
delivered from the womb of imperial feasts
drained into the gutters of embers.
Nero with the crown of laurels on his head
squirming in the edelweiss of fire, scraping the divine mist,
in the flesh of the eternal city he burns the windows of delirium
following the fifteenth brain of gorging by the fifteenth poison.
Mushrooms, the food for the gods. Rome burns on his lyre sound
while the cold blade of fear riches his agonizing throat.
What an artist the world is loosing.
From republic to imperial caprice.
The doom of the long row of assassinations. Royalty is a good
burial shroud. Caligula lives as a god and dies as a mortal.
He quarrels with gods, in the arms of praetorian guards negotiates
the golden dream in the boudoirs of laziness,
aflame in inferno, epilepsy, insomnia and family executions.
In the beasts' arena he cuts the tongue of the miserable one
who dared to bellow his innocence.
Do not laugh do not get purified do not die yet
time for mourning.
Labyrinths of ecstasy and cruelty unravel underneath the city
surging up to the surface as ruin fluxes,
the ruins of splendor and fame, the chariot races and pageantry
among
fragments of death, lions fighting gladiators in the arena, stone
and flesh
wrapped up in folds of blood leaving rusty iron cocks in the Coliseum
where
saints are engulfed by beasts--the chimera running out
with the stomachs filled up with chunks of flesh and tarnished sky.
Treachery grows in the clouds like a red moon. By prophecy
Caesar gets barbarized in the Senate Caesar after Caesar--bastardized.
The balance of tyranny and assassinations bled the empire dry,
the daggers through fame and terror & envy & madness and
deprival,
shared magnificence crumbling among ubiquitous slavery, sex scandals
and orgies, the ruins of power carrying time in quadrigae.
Unseen, at the edge of the empire, the prophets ramble in the delirium
of truth.
A total eclipse over the cabbage rotten on a silver plate--
reminding of the very head cut by the dance of blue vitriolic bulbs,
in the sunset's lake ravens lay down oblivion,
purity is torn into shreds of eyes over ponds of ash,
the labyrinth coils around lives where silence engulfs the plaster
Minotaurs,
mirrors and death--
snowfalls over innocent bodies enduring the stretching on the rack
and the burning on the stake
and the swallowing of words
and the spears pulled out of the martyrs flesh.
Spears pierce the branches of the wrung tribes,
people dragged through oasis of wasps. From communicating vessels
the violet venom spreads out like a shroud over the widowed faces.
Porcelain vanities polish the stars with the dust of the desert,
mercenaries march through atlases with ripped sandals,
quartered on the spot in the Latin tongue, legions march through
the fate
stretching the tribute of the publican--
the abstract circumference of coins estrange the face from the symbol.
They march through temples and smashed cryptic nests,
erect triumphal columns in the middle of bronze lamentations.
Time oozes the dark ages.
The guardian spirit of Lar is forced to open the Pandora's
box
the underworld is swelling up into the wounded light--
the scorching winds from the desert come as a hot tar lighting.
The collapse is build from glamour in its own pits from lascivious
enemies
and decadence debtors. Time and time again, from wastelands and
tundra,
ravens rivet the cadavers on the black metal of battlefields.
Hordes' tides engulf everything the
human race.
A citadel of electrical mummifying amongst the quick and the dead,
attacked columns, stripped raw façades, monuments of the
hazard,
trembling stones under barbaric infusions,
under the elephant roar and buffalo clatter,
under the boiling yell in the blown nostrils stirred by the fragile
flesh--
from under the horse bellies the plunder spreads out into the painful
hematomas,
the innocent lives squat like dandelions.
And again a total eclipse over the cabbages rotten on a silver plate--
the very head cut by the dance of blue vitriolic bulbs, by polished
vanities.
The sun is dripping through blind radiographic films,
leaving hot shadows on the walls.
A conqueror fleet scatters the salt of the wave
blocks the port through lying and shaggy intrigue
the vow of strangling the Last Anointed One in Heaven
with the intestines of the Last Invested One on Earth.
Somewhere purity engulfs
itself
engulfs
itself
Rome drama
and circus neorealism
and fantasy
Movies roll into pits of illusion.
Fellini is undressing clowns in Coliseum, tames the beasts of dream
roams from room to room inside the time spirals transgressing the
frames.
La vie en rose, La dolce vita.
Antonioni is hiding within the celluloid rustle of silence.
The red desert.
Visconti rides the Leopard while
Bertolucci seeks the limp wind in the Forbidden City.
Rome marble and imperial columns.
Architectural paradigms. Floating marble curls around the thoughtful
pines.
Fountains of worm kisses pour over emperor tombs.
Motorcycles haunt the streets and consciousness,
the sense of integrity is corroded by blowing horns.
The feeling of something forever lost under the mute pavement,
the asphalt of blind looks beyond shining prison bars
streets and dreams threads at the edge of the
rain
a desert of impossible things
time presses our heads in the insectarium,
returns the mist and brilliance of the ancient figures.
Rome daily roar and legend.
Inside being there is a secret archeology, on islands with Fauns
there is the sluggishness of blood through the veins,
two-faced Janus opens the gates to multiple existences
with his key of good beginning,
Floras brings laurels to Cupid in ritual festivities,
the empires borders twinkle through the opacities of
stained-glass windows with rites of spring--
romping bacchanalia of the adopted Nymphs and Satires
are filtered in pyramids on the thin crust of the eye.
Sumerian welding in the hearing's alluvia
and flickering memories in Hittite ceramics.
From four corners birds flash out with their beaks
full of painted walls left over
from the collapsing Jericho
Nimble thoughts rise and everything gets clearer.
A silk mouse crunches the grain of sleep,
dissolves darkness into fans of worm snow.
Rome meditation and beyond
Bulbs of silence open up with their wet faces.
Vibration with its earthworm eyes crawls into organ's tubes.
I listen to the crystalline flute laying its sounds as brilliant
eggs
in the afternoon nest--lazy sheet of paper with plenty of irises.
I see angels rolling through the deserts of a magnifying glass
like overripe pumpkins.
A citadel of electrical mummifications amongst the quick and the
dead,
trembling gardens from the seep of the brick,
a million churches for a million saints,
marking a million piazzas, steps and fountains.
He passes by
illuminated by the arbors collapsed into an untouched melancholy
and stigmatized winds get crucified.
Peter denied Constantine
denied.
The Triumphal Arch was erected the
foundation set
Thomas was satisfied Paul
fell into the light
the Martyrs screamed Madonna
with Child
at the foot of Olives Mountain seeing
the cross
and the oozing blood and
the squeezed life
and
the illumination risen
the shroud irradiated by Ascension
a rebel ceremony
lying
in ambush for perfection
our sight is overwhelmed by His breath
by the crowning fire wrapping itself up in emblems.
Happiness is flowing down the retinas into depth
over the stars fallen from hot spheres.
Flight and dissonance mingle in secluded lives.
Snow burns under the numbers leaving hidden polyhedral shapes
onto the old floating reed islets.
Upon his rock
one can hear ascetic cataracts, the fragile engines
under the glassy sphinx of meditation.
Inside the smoke the stone miracle bites at our dream.
Icons embrace us.
San Pietro is shining over the relics
among Vatican's scrolls' glittering secrets.
In the Sistine Chapel Michelangelo clears time gravitation,
the ceiling pours muscular torrents through diaphanous colors,
the Maltese cross digs auroras into shrouds of concern,
arcane battles sustains the vibrant row and the golden number--
hidden shaking flares in the holy genetic library.
If loves is not nothing is.
The eternal city living and pulsing inside the thin leaf of mica
destinies embrace truth as strange imprints
when the sun is dripping down the scorching nimbus
leaving heavy shadows inside the Palimpsest
above and below
above and below ordinary people and saints
the spirit of Rome lives on
On the Watch
The day's embryo worms its way into the gap
of my ear drum through the shrubs of alliteration
A question is fermented by bewitching waters
on the lips of an echo
Boats are floating with hidden reports
down the lava golden legs
From huge towers I could hear the sunset's rattle,
the edelweiss burning on the rim of the moon
Steps rustle through a horizon of visions and
impatience grows inside the magnifying glasses--
my inner sight broken by meteorites
follows ways unwilling to be unveiled
Intensity
midday burns in vegetal chandeliers--
the surrounding light screams like a slaughtered pig
and the trees are hacked under the translucent bells
footsteps stumble against their own clarity
words are the only shadows around
a letter trembles screwed in my sight like a reed
and a tear is pierced by allegoric dances
elytra fly as nervous impulses--
irremediable transparencies
glasses are filled at the last supper of the seconds
when everything becomes verb and the light's Judas
bites the shadows down to vibration
|
