After a Night in the Alley of Worshippers The point is not the frayed light of six a.m. or the barking of dogs, half-crazed by the scent of blood, who we had to drive away. Nor the fatigue from a night spent deep in death, the network that only now falls silent, the shouts from […]
[In the white of my poems] In the white of my poems I’m dying Dressed by alphabet letters I escort myself to the grave • The word I write becomes another word How its cry inscribes the page My teeth of wildcat grinding Each poem is a mark of my claws • Evening death […]
From the translator’s note: The biographies that make up this collection are a blend of history and fiction. They all contain events and people that have existed, or could have existed. They are not easy; Davide uses a challenging and unconventional vocabulary . . . The stories in Città distrutte: Sei biografie infedeli deal with difficult […]
April Grammar That night We promised Each other apart Like artichoke hearts Then quickly Cleared the table And into chairs we Fell You Bundled up the afternoon And went to climb Mount Sinai From the bottom of the dark Stairwell Up to your room Hemmed in by dark Windows Into the utterly Laughable futon […]
Folklore is Not the Original Music [The light must be turned on to see the day. The wind will carry away the body’s shell. And all will continue on its course.] You once wished for a god to come to your gathering. But you are a common man, a son of the earth. A black […]
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