Emily has not moved out of the room and never
Virginia invoking
madly chasing reality
Elisa claimed that,
narrator in a novel now nowhere to be found in bookstores,
all to himself before he was Musa
raving on the phone at the clinic.
I spent the first youth to Rome or
Baudelaire always staying in Paris
traveling with hallucinatory substances like Fritz
tirelessly to Sorrento
between slavery and melancholy
now that we walked in the spring,
for hot ice ink.
For Naples, it could still
the spell at any minute
angle otherwise it is not ecstatic stasis interrupted only by the sea in summer
Lazio for opposing the productivity of certain
bourgeoisie while turning
tourist stays at his house,
not by chance.
many times I went to Sicily. Instead, Woolf
never moved to India. Today
love, looking Leopardi
not call more, theater
anamorphic form is interpreted in the surreal world of the Web
understood as nothing divine, his materialistic obsession
(very strong) and vision, however, that opposed to the grace
before September 11 when it was safer to go to New
York and Greece in a holiday that would do
- I read his desertizzati regrets, a name that is an enigma -
or Lucania
next to God (and can understand me) or in France and in Berlin's lush
pagan pleasures.
pages read and reread,
visit in connection with artificial trips are real
never been imagined, if there is life in the guest bedroom of Myosotis
overnight,
the deluded vision of visions, removing
a terrible grudge
alternative to a meal eaten in haste
between patches and meadows.
Sandro De Fazi
published in
lapoesiaelospirito.wordpress.com March 25, 2010
