Poems written in Florence

Here is a collection of free form poetry I wrote in Florence. They sketch my impressions from the odd situation I found myself in at my sister’s wedding. Odd because I was surrounded by so many people I have not seen in a very long time (months, years). I felt like I was back home, and reconnected with some old internal feelings that yielded what seems to me some morose writing.


I
Brain floating
The sound of stammering madness
Bursting into a troubled vessel.

East coast professional
West coast freak.
Take me to a concert where the
World has let go of itself, and little
Red-horned beasts charge into eachother.

II
All that matters is nothing.
All that is has gone.
The empty cup is drowning with water
And a thousand tiny rocks kiss my souls.

III
Crooked back can’t hear nothing
Hiding in a cracked shell – red, white, blot
Plummeting down the fogged stratosphere
And pulls a strap to float so soft
Until the wind rips holes into the parachute.

IV
Don’t believe in it but I’ll take it
Crying inside but I’ll smile
Need to turn away but I face-to-face it
Want to hate it but I love it.

Its sparkle takes mine away
Forced smiles etch pain into my wrinkles.
Time to find my mind hiding in my back pocket with the hard tissue that dissolves in my hand if I take too much of it.

Where is the grain of sand in this desolate pasture?
Where is the brain of man in this charred metropolis?

Run away, sleepy brain.
Keep your eyes shut and don’t even blink.
Think like it’s the first thought you’ve ever bought from a three-handed crumb peddler.

V
I’m here for a quickie
Got a camera in one hand
And a guidebook in the other

Walking like my first steps
Lookin’ for a good time
Within my price range

I’m just; me just
Here for a quickie
Then I gotta get back

To the real world,
Meal face laced with grace
Swirling about my inner outer space,
So make it quick and sweet
With a side of meat
And I’ll size up the world.

VI
Have a look at this bridge
We need to see everything.

Giacometti statuettes for a few pennies.
We can argue for the price if you really want to,
If it really makes you feel that much stronger.

VII
Systematic, aristocratic, dogmatic.
Cyclical blindness imbedded
In relentless internal pain;
The hallowist fellowship -

A rotting green apple
Has fallen from the barbie child's decorated hand.
Ceaseless insomniacs never stop
The self-imposed sufering.
Conflict trip masked in
Miles of smiles.