Il mio corpo sta facendo cose che non ho chiesto al
mio corpo di fare. I am a simple man — gosh —
and I have received the impression your poem isn’t
about the Terrible President. You’re trying to tell us
something sage we can’t hear simply. Stop with
the gosh. Pick up a beer bottle slake of gasoline.
There are many ways to say Mary. Here is my
password: Say rogue. Say scoundrel. I am dying.
Pethaíno. Douse. Sto morendo. Match. My body
does things I don’t ask it to do. My ears bleed pixels
of chlorine of ferric oxide of pine. The kitchen light
never comes on, Mary, you know what I mean? There
are the ants. They migrate from the dry sandy soil
into my possessed things. Things I kill for. Things
I inherit. La barca si schianta attraverso la diga.
Mio la barca si schianta contro una ventola. I
know what you’re thinking: You’re wrong and you’re
wonderful. North star of burning hotel. Star burning.