I saw the slenderestcrescent today, hungbetween buildingsas light gave wayto dusk; the morewe know the lesswe know, the mindblown open, a cliffedge then air, madeopen again (the soulthat is) for business Continue reading A Poem for the End of the Year by Rufo Quintavalle
Everything has to startsomewhere but a poemabout everything shouldnot start anywhere per sein media res is better andbest of all is no place atall a poem about everything has no truck withhierarchy or diachronicprogression and makesnonsense of the notionof non sequitur after allas soon as two thingsfollow each other theysequence and segue andapophenia is more thanjust a pretty word poemsabout everything do notexist in the … Continue reading A Poem About Everything by Rufo Quintavalle
The pure contralto sings in the organ loftTo the pilgrims and agnostics queuing upTo touch the sacred rock with the powerThey say, to heal ailments: grippe; autism;The body flux; mumps; shingles; sterility;Tennis elbow; wrist, shoulder or Achilles Tendinitis; lazy eye; leprosy; atrial flutter;Tachycardia; pentosuria; benign essentialTremor; renal calculi; Mad Cow Disease;Tourette and Townes-Brocks syndrome;Hyperglycemia; gangrene and cherubism.The prayer or the hope of all is the … Continue reading Shelf 15 by Rufo Quintavalle
In the salami asylum it’s electrodes à gogo and Château d’Yquem; it’s Thorazine spritzers, Betelgeuse, and a cardboard kidney dish of phlegm. In the salami asylumthere’s a stick thinAustrian nurse who spends her time reminding you that things can always get worse. She takes away your powerand keeps it safewith your will at the top of a crystalline toweron a five-and-a-halfinch windowsill. In the salami asylumthe inmates are alldoing life; there’s a donor who’s friendswith the … Continue reading The Salami Asylum by Rufo Quintavalle
Outin theaftermath, dawn’shereafter; outof theashes a coda,light. Continue reading Coda by Rufo Quintavalle
Because he soughtat all coststo be free he ended upwith nothing because she soughtsecurity she endedup alone because we bought into the lie that you can movethroughlife and neverhurtanother soul we found ourselveson islandscursing the birds above usthat crossacross the sky Continue reading Islands by Rufo Quintavalle
This too, they say, will pass but will it passlike morning mistbecoming summer’s day or will it passlike a desert mirageendlessly slippingaway Continue reading This Too by Rufo Quintavalle
