Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Italian Noir
 
like crumbs she collects her tears 
the room speaks carelessly for itself  
even silhouettes are invisible through the antique curtains    
so she decides to give the night-moths a voice  


acherontia atropos she claims 

 
wrapped in negative frequency  
desperately drawn to their ill fate 
 
the Goldberg variations - Zimmerman 
 
(Glenn Gould did it better) 
 
she cuts faded photographs into a sepia collage  
her knife cuts open landscapes  
where the sun inevitably 
sets
 
I leave the room and decide that a single sheet will suffice 
 
her leg slowly rubs against mine 
it feels inescapable - time only has a final destination 
 
lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate 


I pour myself a drink