“Tethered to tedious pities”


A mammal-manacled-maniacal,


in beard, short night, a bard

and my coffee;

3 crossed by on the other

side; 2 petit pinkly, 2 bluely capuchins.

They’re not here anymore,

strident children and mummies gone,

innocence, for now.

Fat corpus, clinging furtive glasses,

pending arms, downwards, earth-bound by counterfeited pending watches, sunwards

(the silver glimmer of a sebaceous morning – in sedatives tailored, the dreams)

2 Printemps-delicious-breasts (wearing a yellow-torrid blouse– an Arabic flavour

–          not of the coffee, is just Buondi – they say from Italian; I’d say from second life plantations)

and she’s blond, a summer brunette,

and another holding a mobile-tattoo, I wonder grasping of her muscle

I’m the tethered Sikh, one God; I’m the Sultan, their my concubines.

The pillars of the inner garden

open to the friskiness of commuters.

Is this still

my child’s room? My Lego, when an architect?

My harem, my temple, Maya and Muhammad,

dates, cardamom and a melody – a flute’s melody –

But who’s the snake?


There are still

half a cigarette, half a coffe, 2 entire books

on my metal table.


Penguin Reference and Translations.

My lighter is red and silvered (just like counterfeited watches from an etherous morning)

Fresh fog around, people worried by.

Comforting my quivering – soft wind

Grey a breeze –

and the Italian artillery ready

Rattle of a caterpillar



Yes, crowded with voices

“Il mondo è gremito di voci”