poema della fine
Your cherished photographs. Do you know how you appear in that big one? Like one lying in wait, suddenly summoned. And the other, the smaller one – it's a farewell. One departing, who once more, fleetingly, – the horses are already prepared – embraces with a glance his own garden – like a written page, before sending it away.
Marina Tsvetaeva
la morte
You who set without ever sinking; you who ignite without ever catching fire;
you who inflame without ever kindling; you who assemble and direct the procession
of motionless fetuses and cockroaches; you who summon the ranks of unclean beings
from the graves; you who; you; you...
Giovanni Testori
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G R A N D G A L O P
W O R K I N P R O G R E S S
All things seem quotations of themselves
and the names they bear branch into others.
Spring, immensely, exists again. The weigela does its dusty thing
in air hammered by fire. And garbage cans are stacked against
the railing while tulips yawn and gape and fall to pieces.
John Ashbery