*** Woken up by the white the white, By impatience of heart to melt, The sky was empty this night, Without the stars has been left. The sky didn’t sleep…
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*** It was an attic room, Too small For my unableness To keep emotion in control. It was under the attic dome, Where we felt the joys Of shared insomnia.…
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The poem “From Iberia to Siberia” accompanied by Sara Maino’s painting “Il Tempo e un clic. Van Gogha” is published in MAINTENANT 16: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art,…
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*** Can you stop the rose from withering, Sun from setting, Hands from getting unpassionate? All that remains is memories And the tyranny of ‘what-ifs’ - God, bless them! On…
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*** Cautious is the sound, The sound of the still mountains. As if the icebergs rooted to the lake, They moan to the skies for centuries. But nothing exotic about…
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*** The taste of persimmon, which is not heard, Which is not seen, but reimagined by the tongue - The spicy soul swirls, pushing autumnal spleen away From the beholder’s…
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*** Electric light illuminates The honey skin of leaves, In slight attacks of fever The shadow of the moon Stands still In Scorpio. Two fine eyes - the craters Are…
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*** From the Portrait Hall of memory- I reach the Amber Room - Venezia - Beige and automnal In October Of twenty twenty two. The FON-DA-MEN-TA FE-DO-ROvskiy Or the Winter…
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*** Our journey around the world And towards each other Is a non-stop sentence, Spontaneous and indifferent to punctuation, Lots of love, lots of layers, Your everyday gestures are always…
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*** I was a wandering camel Braying at the sun, I felt I was walking On hot coals, I kept my pain and sadness Secret (Anyway, there was no-one around!)…
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