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
