Sebastian Priotese

I look at the moon
and I see your back
arched like a cello string
broken in staccato.
...

You dress up your nicobar-goddess with wings
of stained glass, in corals, in shells,
in lilac stems and shake off the sidereal
aurora from her nocturnal butterflies,
...

Ossified by eons,
you dream imperfection's white noise
and the maddening drone of the
eternal brokenness,
...

You sleep with eyes wide open
like the saints mutilated by brushes
on the walls of the nave.
She dances in the light bulb
...

If I would have had a grain
Of authority in this world,
Be it even as a poet,
I would have made an international
...

When you laughed,
The rivers of light
From your eyes filtered
Through your eyelashes
...

Tombe dans les phantasmes
Comme il
Corbeaux dans
La poubelle,
...

Cohen knows squat about
Depth, I assure you.
A kiss is as deep as the
Nethermost circle
...

Sing to me,
Third requiem.
Sing yourself unto me, requiem,
For this is an ecumenical sadness,
...

I don't know if it's because
I'm alone or because
You're an icy sun where my heart used to be.
But the world without you
...

You be my mountain and my valley
and I shall be the echo
that goes right through you
from an end to the other.
...

Magma does not burn
fiercer than the spit of my
relatives.
...

...

I've tortured this naiad and filled
up her mouth with corn.
Finally, she told me the best
inspiration she can give sometimes
...

Oh God,
I am everywhere.
The horrors of partiality.
I don't think I'm dead, though:
...

Her jaw comes through the red
steam like a shipwreck dressed
in a flare of marble.
She rams her larboard against the banks
...

I go off across death
like a luxulianite section
in the rib of a mountain.
Eternity falls like dew
...

They thrust eternal night
down my throat, they plucked
the shards of light out of my eyes
and you offered me the sky.
...

When the gods will have decided
to take what's left of my senses,
I will beg them to leave me just
with the memory of the scent of your lips.
...

There is a subatomic
spasm in the garden.
Feathers swear him and the void
pushes downwards with the weight
...