Rehearsing lines for detox where talk-talk is restrung
with unwords for transposition . . .
rearranging the furniture of the mind
to extract the right answer by rewording the question . . .
Of course, the drama of the get-go
with the feel of a silent movie . . .
eyes darting around the corners of the room
as if a mouse had sped past
slamming down chunks of cheddar
trailed by a reconfigured tabby . . .
The flattish physiognomy of the perp
under the cold, bleary sheets of confusion
opens the key to eventual deformity . . .
To hear the little click for another season of reruns . . .
is OK . . . even par for some of the players
chomping to borrow a phrase
for when the lake freezes over
with you dotting the horizon in yet another rewrite
of your one wild and precious life
bought and sold by plagiarists
shoplifting future episodes for junkyard flaneurs
in search of thought bubbles
floating above orphaned backstreets . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |