PERPETUAL NERONIA

 

ill deposits of tooth

and bone

 

turgid tongue, a ripening

assemblage of death

 

and a wilderness

of wasted flesh

 

to gorge the great sarcophagus

FOR MARIO STEFANI

Solitudine non é esser soli

é amore gli altri inutilmente.

 

Note to self: save Venice

by throwing self in canal.

No. No such canal.

 

Bells twitchy this morning

pigeons

a pain in the ass to all.

 

And the constant unterhhuptions!

Let me drink a tea

to make everything fall into place

fail into place

step off into space

I’m afraid 

of my head

afraid of my stomach

afraid of my feet, always

looking up at me like little dogs.

 

Too many voices

too many unfamiliar dogs

too many ribbed vaults

crawling with heads!

 

My apartment: wreckage in every room

the atmosphere is cloudy, a mess

Venice is fucked

fine:

three cheers

for anyone

who ever thought otherwise

 

*

Was the poet’s suicide a suicide

or a murder-suicide wherein

from a chair

the bodies were all enfolded

and involved

into a ball

suspended on a chain

from the ceiling

like a censer?