• Episode 6: ep. 6 - a poetry reading from Maresciàra - just a cock singing

  • Aug 27 2021
  • Duración: 17 m
  • Podcast

Episode 6: ep. 6 - a poetry reading from Maresciàra - just a cock singing Por arte de portada

Episode 6: ep. 6 - a poetry reading from Maresciàra - just a cock singing

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  • Decomposition (and how joyful and childish it is  to talk about death, or Спокойнаяночь)  yet supine because of death  or only because  of one day effort |  may a rose blossom  from the solar plexus, or a pinky mycosis;  may flesh open wide  at the paused stern height  in order to offer a pearl   or a black stone  to who’s passing  who’s handsome thief;  hands are similar to ivies, eyes to opals pools for flies-   all the apprehensions  will be drank by grass    Trezza 22 October 19  ______________________ untitled    I do need it  but I’d like to present you  a vertebrae of my finest / I’d give it to you  like the royal rings  from trunk to heirs, and because of that hole in my back  I would not fall like a boiled fruit, instead  such as asps from the ditch  some wings would bloom,something would,/  in order to repair, wipe out  all our doubts,  since I as I’m now whole and empty  can’t. _________________________ wish   May you be the dream of a sailfish, fresh fig and Dalco’s scythe edge;  may you be loved by a dog, may your soul be nettle and bread like, fire and venom like,  and your eyes like anemone and closed wings, their fundus may remember of a celestial web;  may you live far  from those who spasmodically  look for a reason in any phenomenon […]  may your back  look like a aureus field, and your temples and thought  like brambles packed with fruits, obscure spiders;  may yesterday  be less than exuvia,  saliva dead leaf, used olive branch diadem;  may your nervous teeth  meet many sage leaves, and may your blood transform at any moon blade, your heart horse fiber and mantis;  may your sky be godless,  may your soil be a trench with holy worms, a rug of moss and sharp ferns;  may your sea go mentally white, meditate green-blue, may that blue vomit  silvery fish  and tentacles curling for lemon drops;  may you be like star and Siringe, Agdistis,  intersexual Hellenic concepts, may you love when rain plays branches;  may be damned time and its infernal wheel its swarming repetition of tortures and liberations revolutions and twists repeated to whip and nausea to grindstone and hustle of dumbs and war.   may your right to be loved  meet negligible abysses,  unfold  like fresh flour on clear wood  or the clouds sliding  off the mountain side.   ____________________________ days   pleasure and verse are triggered by  knife beating on the chop board. Between them  there’s a thin line of horse meat.   Split the nerve  Cut the suet in excess   It might be diving foreheads  in a rubber wall   intestine canvas like  quotidian membrane  to make us wish  to tear apart things nearly ended ; to creep on roots and moss  naked, slaughter; to pour cheeks with ventricles juice.   It’s a splendid night to be scared, it’s a splendid night to be melancholic,-  moon  hammers  splits the nerve if full, cuts it in a glare  if new  May the sky desire this lives  meet many scythes.  Life pusillanimity walzer, we’d better roll ourselves in a dark wave, wear miserable aestheticism,  and your kidneys, you enthusiast man,  will be licked by hounds.   II.  after brushing the crack, pieces were connected  with spit, with seaweeds and mucus ;  drive with me tonight,  place on my back  ropes and lavenders  as a living mummification rilling ,  and inside, nothing’s moving-    Catania, 24 December 19  _____________________________   i giorni     Il godimento e il verso li innesca  il coltello che batte sul tagliere.Tra i due c’è una linea di carne equina.   Spacca il nervo  Taglia il grasso in eccesso   Sarà il tuffare la fronte  in una quotidiana membrana  che sembra un muro di gomma  o una tela di budello a farci desiderare  di dilaniare cose appena finite ; di strisciare tra radici e muschi  nudi, macello;  di grondare le guance di succo di ventricoli.   E’ una sera splendida per aver paura, è una splendida sera  per aver malinconia di se stessi,- la luna  spacca il nervo se piena  come martello,  lo taglia in un baleno  se nuova   Voglia il cielo che queste vite  incontrino molte falci.   Vita walzer di vigliaccheria, faremmo bene a rotolarci in un’onda nera, a vestirci di mesto estetismo, e le tue reni, uomo entusiasta,  le leccheranno i cani.    II.  Sfiorato lo schianto,  i pezzi erano collegati  con lo sputo, con le alghe e col muco ;  guida con me stanotte,  poni sulla mia schiena  cime e lavande  come una mummificazione  in piena vita che scorre,  e dentro non si muove niente-   Catania, 24 Dicembre 19 
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