Episode 2: ep. 2 - a poetry reading from Maresciàra - memories of green

A poetry reading from Maresciàra - poems of love, darkness and wildlife by Giovanni S. Orecchio

observations on the used shell (shed, exuvia)
shall I
wrap myself in a sharp waves sheet
and sea gods, creatures, nereids and slow fish
demand for a new brain,
new cardiac fibers,
brand new blood canals and coral
wings;
shall I
throw myself
carcass fashion
in humus

and between laughs of trees, nymphs
sneers,
new born moon nails and eyelashes,
foxes jaws,
in order to dedicate my flesh,
my eyeballs and my panic ribs
to that whole world that browses,
bites,
digests,
and turns rotten-boredom
scoundrel-limbs
into feast,

mushrooms,
pretty grass.
shall I
blend with you
as you were the only useful drug
my dim light on drowsy Mediterranean
/
I shall
surrender
and surrender myself,
attack, assault,
siege any uncertainty of me,
with spontaneous blades,
indigo
armies

of snow and silence,
divisions of sea salt and claws
archers and purple-orange landscapes,
and in forgettable jails
throw what’s my
horrific remain,
faulty valve,
fear and boredom /
yet
not one day passes, night or second,
in which my thought and blood rhythm
aren’t far too similar to tide
to the eyeballs of a mad horse
stuck in a summer storm
skin is soft

still
_________________
multipolar
keeps smoking
in front of the sea
thoughts
such as unstable tides,
abrupt paths
with no roes or ferns
one time
slow algae,
right after
joyful lapillus
__________________
dreamlike II

I was some fish
sword and womb,
and the next instant
between black forests
fox with Apollo’s posture
thinking about you
so secret to me,
unfolded
in seagull geometry,
marine wing
and I miss you
like gorses miss May
like crests miss wind
II.
far from ecstasy,
from Dionysian dribble - ,
spending days and nights
scorpion calm scorpion still
or such as in the wave
seaweed dances.
______________________
hybrid
such as mute sphynxes, or asps
we do wake up, twist and pull back
daily
-moon eyelash
mulberry viscera
coral nerves-
at the end
as river beds do only

remain
the sea,
the spiky ink
the dream of you of you naked
of your clavicle/
last iris
-they stop my blood-
-shells, carcasses, fishbones,
defective kidneys, a smooth liver-
not finding any vitality
than the one that comes
from sensing dead already.
_____________________
masoch (04:47)
do not provoke me
I’d do nothing at all.
II.
I try to sleep
like and intact nut /
at silence still night
I hatch, paralyzed,
since I saw you in apocalypse,
in a meat slaughter, naked from behind
or sat on an iris;
in a goldmine,
with someone else irrelevant,
or with a blood coral

on the hip.
without any layer of thinking
I ask myself if your shivers
do feel me awake,
tense like one wolf only;
if your nervous eyelids
cover grey of green-blue/
I agreed with the wind
quite a long time ago:
your hair
will always tend
to the space between my fingers
__________
sincerely, thank you
giovanni s.