The ink on your arms and legs
colors our relationship with plaintive voicings:
You came to me . . . from out of nowhere . . .
And so the drama:
the impregnation of vassalage
before rushing out the door
for a virtual trolley of addenda . . .
Your spectacles hold the magic
to an alternate reality
engaging passersby on the street
with the opening lines to The Odyssey:
Tell me about a complicated man . . .
how he wandered and was lost . . .
The camera, hand-held, tightens the frame . . .
the mental fuzziness will dissolve
at the edge of a beach softened by watercolor
soundtracked with trance . . .
Do you mean, nothing with nothing? . . .
No, surreptitiously . . . re-entering silence
as an arm enters a sleeve . . .
Insisting on what . . . endless endings? . . .
The non-speaking part to the absent ear . . .
the camera panning the crowd . . . intolerant . . .
Mayhaps in time
you will chance the lives you've imagined
trying on a different metaphor
to become who you are by not knowing . . .
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Antonio Palmerini |