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btyl8 is based upon the lyrics of "under the acorns of the oaks" by Marina Pizzi, translated by Laura Modigliani

lyrics

from “Under the Acorns of the Oaks”

“I have conquered the empire of an attic”
Fernando Pessoa


no longer wanting to commit
the dragging on still does not mutiny.
it is not the full grave under scrutiny
nor the idol of birth without sunset.
the dip in the path shall find paradise
under the acorns of the oaks.
*
not reaching the soil nor the air
the hangman’s chrysanthemum.
the observatory of the forehead
is unfit as a lookout
against all the bullets.
since yesterday the dunes of motherhood
rest wisely, they know the time
of buoy, the burned satchel scored
by the harangue of the prosecutor without embers.
*
with throat consumed the ringed compendium
this rough-hewn fence
scarlet in the midday morning
tumult of vetoes dacha without food.
skip the snack on the river banks of expiration
of the firearm of the chimney that berths
path of the concrete foot.
lower than me is not possible
if not in death of twin dog
of the fortunes that all undo it
scrawny, meat-packing district, roof
that breaks with the straw:
useless the bonfires made perhaps for mercy.
*
concealed in the mother’s chest
forum of moonless father
asks now for an angle of bread
a necessary taste against the wall
of gods endured…
laughed the beautiful dialect just yesterday laughed
when august was spent on the roof
of the wafers of the sun, wafers.
old fashioned at the bar aisle
pays centesimal minutes
minuscule murderous evils
cries and chides in the death of the space.
*
the bivouac shall mourn the slope of the scattered
to the inert preserves to the absence of beauty.
has to release a wild goat’s trill
gullible still of having the choice
between one pebble and the other and a protocol.
has to release a slope of stagnation
a dull matter date and desert.
disheveled hovel comatose chimney
hum a refrain for all of them
the tortured hoards of fog…

credits

from beyond the yellow line, released January 3, 2022

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mauro strazzaboschi image

mauro strazzaboschi Venice, Italy

prova ancora. fallisci ancora. fallisci meglio. (S. Beckett)

carpe this fucking diem

fatto è meglio che perfetto

uno spigolo ben fatto può dare più emozione di una delicata curva

chiedi perdono, non il permesso

Eh, la vita ... una bella sfida!

Ogni sogno a cui rinunci è un pezzo del tuo futuro che smette di esistere

solo nell’arte è possibile trovare un compenso al disordine del mondo ... more

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