detail from: KRK Art dizajn

Two hearts

   She has two hearts.

I have none.

So, when we die

we will have one heart each;

and love

will still be alive

in spite of us.

*

I would like to tell you everything

 I would like to tell you everything with a poem.

Explain to you the thirst, the blind race towards

the open sea, the taste of salt,

the crash with the inevitable rock.

   I wish I could, but my poem

was and is only you.

   Now I can tell you the emptiness, the mute

darkness, the chasm, the memory

of every moment, slowly flowing

liquid boundary between life and non-life,

between your adored coziness

and this crooked bed

in this empty room.

*

I will not be

   I was born with dead feet.

Some people dart out smiling

perfectly combed, with a wind surf look

acting like salsa or flamenco dancers.

I would have made the joy

of Mantegna, with my stocky and bony feet

motionless on the edge of the bed

oriented only to the reunification

with a point where I have not been

and in which, the instant I’ll reach it,

I will not be.

*

I am you

I don't have you. I am you.

I don’t possess you. I live you. I live

when I'm your breath.

I am not master of anything,

not even of the time I had

in fate, of the body

that I keep alive while it

comes to life every day and dies,

and runs to death with arms

wide open.

I am master of the thought

that unites me and you, and it is

the same embrace with eyes

closed that binds our arms,

fingers, mind, hearts, in spite

of the emptiness that presses and pushes

on the dividing walls.

Our hearts beating in unison

confirm the steadfast, tenacious

consistency

of nonexistence.

      *

Liquidate

It would be nice, and very comfortable,

to liquidate completely

the failed warehouse.

To say that everything,

outside and inside

above and below,

is absurd and empty rubbish.

But there are things,

objects, looks

and gestures

to stay for

open, and live:

the thought of me

in the thought of you.

*

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