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Let’s call it a day, shall we, as we’ve been traipsing
From waves to clouds, from clouds to waves,
Among weeds, and a fire fearing the waves,
That heartless white all over—
But they’ll soon come back to clean
Her thirst, her hunger, not now,
As they’re not listening, too busy wondering
Whose son he is the mongrel—
So, don’t ask for angels, for comets, from births,
Or days from demise, my soul’s in rehab,
Soon to be dismissed, and no goddess shall reply
While running in red hot shoes—
And when you’ll fall down, my blessed fury,
My soul gasping among vertical words,
I’d have to tie you up, my soul so young and green,
Who confuses stars for shadows, when out of fear
Her light is throwing herself to trees and seasons,
When neither maps nor sextants light up ambos,
Alarms, dross, while you keep stroking rooms,
Streets, secluded spots—
So, moon, leave it alone, if they say blue takes care
Of everything, even keeps you safe
If by any chance you are cold—
No need to ask, cause the blue of the sky
Looks so disheveled, and the trees of disappearance
Can’t give you their best fruits—
She’s here, the last light coming back in small bites
Ready to fight thorn bushes if you reject fear
Or ask too much—
That’s why you pay so dearly for the sound of cicadas,
An angry summer, my October sowing ghastly seeds,
When your hands awaken your breath,
And desertion turns up, but can’t grasp light—
Father, my father, use a different clay,
You see, other fathers break forth,
Shouting you betrayed our search of clouds,
Sheets in the wind, tense times—
Now listen, why did you ask for animals
To sit next to small creatures,
Why did you give them absolute freedom,
Ever the innocent visionary artist,
And look now, we both bound to stay
Outside the garden, I fed up and sick
With all the blue shapes you handed to water,
Skies, detachment, respite, you in such a fright
That they’ll report you for being a jackal,
Both our blue minds loaded with evil,
And a bloody world.

Do you realize my soul no longer lives
Alone by the fire, and a tree of endless questions?
It’s God now, God every day,
After bastard years, a broken demise,
Blue and winters safely out of the game—
Look at them while they’re freezing walls,
Or chatting away time in red-blue cafes,
Can you feel their artsy impetus, maybe their father,
As a snowy branch gets rid of green, and leaves,
Hunger skips out, and life
Sets the scene ready for the missing?
And would you ever dream of it, heaven,
My heaven, you look so different,
Pictures don’t do you justice, oh, by the by,
The moon would love to give thanks to you,
But is too busy dismissing burns,
And crooked trees won’t collapse—
Do you mind giving way to them
While my soul reveals her thirst to water?
’Cause, you know, it happens sometimes,
Light grabbing you again and again, if you stumble on it
Among trees, missing people, obnoxious stars,
Light startling you, when only blue cares for your life,
God, maybe a hidden meadow—
Watch out, my soul, sooner or later
You’ll have to feed on its grass—
And you, my unstoppable light,
My sweet taste of errors, blunders, mistakes,
Water too proves hell, as do mothers, still mothers,
Or a town rife with missing, old crones, disabled—
So silence your breath, please silence your breath,
And sulfurous stares,
Whenever daughters praise the green splendor
Of mornings with blue rhythms, green lines,
Whenever girls clad in thick veils stroll the venues,
And cantankerous ladies in white satin petticoats
Harass lazy workmen—
And you don’t call yourself an abyss,
You are only God, God who’s chancing it
Among missing souls, those very same souls
Once sure of heaven’s love—
Point is he would hang out with that one,
Life who’s got so many friends she can easily
Brush aside an infinite stalked by light
Just to please her and provide a happy end—
Sorry, what? Yes, her secret wish, her dream of a life.

Gabriella Garofalo

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