Posted: September 23, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,






Something like fresh pine.

Not christmas pine.

Summer pine near the summit,

all beholden truth.

Just a hint

just the nape

just the edge of a skirt,

the trembling of a weary knee.

Upward and downward

and upward still,

the laughing dada

in the tiny presence of

each absurd thing.

come cuddle my thoughts

and slob on my nob

and breathe the fire of each minute.

We are alone in each sphere,

the sphere of the earth

the sphere of the soul

the orb of the brain

and the balls of my balls,

Are ours so good as this?

How many erections

do you see in the sky?

How much ejaculate

in the wailing cosmos?

I have been here

and i have been there

but i have never been everywhere.

Are ours so good as this?

– Carlo Campanella



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