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re:lode⁷

finding myself short of scries
I tape one dark hair
to the back of a mirror
propped up & obsidian
against the bedroom wall
       then sit
through ritual
foodless silence
touched with
faint scent notes
rekindled from
the brink
       in the next room
Stefano Battaglia
clutches half-chords
long enough
to be released
into a birdless sky
Infinitely grazed
with light
September rain
its static blurs
all hope of
ever calming down
       so glad you're into
Wasserkäfer
I'm rereading
   The Triodes
   by Er Papòn
an early edition
printed on vinegar
& brown paper:
[from Sul Ponte degli Scalini]
       the canal glides
       beneath our feet
       swift water
       you tell me
       with your true eyes
       is only
       unspooled air
       irremediably trapped
       in love's abandoned
       chemistries
       suddenly
       you look down
       & part of us is gone
       only our captured
       insoluble
       moons
       will remain

Varzi, 5^th September 2017