CORALINE

I was alone and the trees around made that noise that you hear when they drop everything they have on them and there was silence, but at the same time the sound of thuds, branches, leaves in motion even if everything seemed still, an orange butterfly yes stops on my arm and looks at me, whole minutes have passed in which the only thing that brought me back to the present was my own breath. I’m also trying to let parts of me die and fall off like dead leaves or rotten fruit, but I’m not a tree. Sometimes it all seems so difficult, opening up to the world, trying to explore it being afraid of what might be found in the dark. Sometimes it’s all so difficult, sometimes it’s hard even to love. Nobody teaches us to love, there are no rules or notions to follow, of course there are generic ways of behavior but no written law or particular teaching on love. It is not said that those who love in silence love less than those who shout it to the world. It is not certain that those who love in the light of day love more than those who love by hiding in darkness. It is not certain that those who clash by pulling repressed anger in the soul love less than those who love in silence, keeping the pain inside. Yet, despite this, we tend to classify love on a pyramid system made up of actions, behaviors that are placed above or below other actions of those who have shown better or worse. It is said that love is not beautiful if it is not a quarrel, but why is it said? Perhaps only to create a moment of normality in unnecessary quarrels or perhaps because if there is no conflict there is no intersection between thoughts and points of view that will then bind to each other, who knows when. In fact, the key to everything will be the clash, as happens in the universe. Two galaxies, in the course of their collision, can remain united in a single element by merging with each other, or they can move away from each other again, leaving reciprocal elements in them. This is the key to everything, the confrontation. Love is like the universe, it’s up to you to figure out how to act.

PANDORA’S SECRET

Using teeth and throats,
lips for breath beats, the flesh to whisper,
storm of veins, paw, sweat.
In the shell of your eyes winters a hard star,
an eternal gem.
But your voice is a calm sea, ancient shells,
pieces of reason,
mind in fragments of the sea.
The palm of the hand in the sky he marvels, the sun darkens,
to be able to look at you better.
You are also a grass, an orange,
a cloud, a rock on which to crash. The world falters at the kidneys,
the pleasure of the inner sediment contracts.
The heat of the heart expands, twisting towards the atrocious futures.
We sat exhausted in the rubble of your body,
we sucked the liquor from your brain,
and not only that, and we had to keep walking jumping over obstacles of love.
You are suspended on the circle of life
and you hold your skull well polished like an ancient object,
you cover it with your hair, you put it back.
Put on another wig and you are another different woman.
You have only indulged in your perfume of infinity.

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