ragazza sprofonda

Photo by Lux


When dark congeals itself
into forms
eager of young girls, sensual too
and I think of myself pretty and
also taken and owned till to
I can get living spasms of my flesh

and you sleep

on my skin I want you, skin to skin.
You on this my skin to be my spasm

and my comfort

March, 12th 2023


Italian version




buco serratura

My friend Lilli said me to meditate about Voyager. I did it.


Mystery sucks in me here and my
everlasting night casts off each hope

In this absolute and frozen darkness
without life or engines
I run, run
meaningless, cut off from
all the world

So are you now.
You look at the dust,
yet the light fills you but
you run


February, 24h 2023


Italian version

But time flows. So also 2023 passes

neve 2019-min

JB, 2019


Nothing else but convention, but time
always flows and I can feel it passing
in my withering flesh, in the faces
of those who are ahead and so distant

The year gone took again many people,
few were born and my hope is so thin
like wrong violet grown in some winter
shrunken soon in the grey of its cold

This my evil chokes me and this heart
weeps embracing the fog that pervades
every motion and gesture, each thing.
Even here you don’t take me so far….

A lewd thought rises, hugs, envelops
me as if I were sweetness and girl.
A crow flies in the air made as pond,
indistinct dullness, and now I groan

Wars and death, pain, dismay and so on
doze this jaded, weak self within me
who yet neither rests nor stays awake.
Wash away blasphemy: she advances!


December, 31st 2022

Italian version

These grey days. 2022th Christmas.


My Christmas scene 2022, today. He will be there only in a few hours. Detail. JB.

A very strange Xmas, this one.

I pray above all for my daughter. Please, Jesus, come again!

Oh, I know you’ll be here again, as i know you’re still here.

Yet show us you. Show us the Beauty. Our beauty too. Please do it!


These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint, change it
into a blue hope, please, do!
That’s no peace but sad silence

Her eyes show gloomy sadness,
those eyes,
that were merry and beautiful and
that are beautiful now.
I see dismay and grey in her eyes.
You can change them by showing a path

These black days, this my black
This black that permeates days
paint it, change.
This black that smells as death,
death of those missed, those
that are too many now,
You can lighten with bright green of leaves

You are the light of a world that lost its
meaning during so cold winter night,
groping in useless gestures, grey ones:
so it learnt violence, wars

Get in touch again, now
I await for You, You
come for me, for her and
for everyone too: we are ghosts
of what You would like we can be. We
miss You. Come and light up all, please.
We are waiting for dawn

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint it, change
otherwise useless passes,
winter of thrills and beauty.
Give us joy and bright colours


A very weird December, 24th 2022


Italian version



my demon

Me. JB.

Some days ago a friend showed me her new work, about which I think I’ll must say something later, because in my opinion it’s her best art installation. However, I cannot agree with the specific meaning of her work, that she comes up positive, outlining a freedom as absence of ties, that is a freedom that does not exist. I am exactly sure of the opposite: love is relationship, link and tie with another and, above all, with Another. Withouth love any freedom cannot exist.
So, t
hinking of me, thinking about why this current world is so strange and inhumane and confused, remembering the Dostoevskji Demons, I wrote this stuff.

(…) There’s no road in sight, so help me;
What to do?… We’ve lost our way.
It’s the demon that has got us
And is leading us astray. (…)

from Aleksandr Puskin’s poem Demons

I see Demons in this my old world,
looking for Beauty and Good to destroy,
hunting faiths to corrupt into schemes
useful to justify wars and rapes

I see Demons in people I meet
on the roads, in the parks, where I go
to find peace or to work or to be
alone to free my mind toward skies

I see Demons into my odd mind.
My thoughts fly as black bats in the night
hidden, dark and they twist my weak soul
leading me where I don’t want to be

I’m a Demon when watch at myself
without memory of what really I’m:
need of each thing, unable to love,
bad and sinful. Oh God take me soon

October, 23th 2022

locandina Demoni

Using other words, other images and another language, here i shared samething really similar.

Black milk

Elizabeth Fraser; pic from here

Some days ago, I was chatting with my friends River and Eucie about that poem by Patrizia Cavalli posted on Nemesys’ blog. It is interesting to note, in our chatting, the connection between Patrizia Cavalli poetry and my previous post theme.

Judy: This morning in a blog I read a poem by Patrizia Cavalli

Eucie: Oh?

Judy: She talks about her feeling to be alone, yet not free… alone. That poem ends so:

“This is what the body is for:
you touch me or you don’t touch me,
you hug me or walk away.
The rest is for the insane.”

Eucie: Yes

River: A truth.

Judy: I commented it in that blog (sorry: it’s in Italian language), saying I know it is true and I know that situation so much.

River: I always find such clarity and solidarity. When I read the words of another in poetry or prose and I relate I feel validated and not alone in my struggle and that is substantial.

Judy: That’s why we read

River: Yes.

Eucie: It is!

Judy: Well… to read is similar to make love; it is as to touch another skin, another soul. That’s what I need: to see another one to be myself

Eucie: You know you are not alone or crazy

Judy: Yes. And I in that way know I am my need. To be human is to be needy and that’s much more evident for a woman.

Then, River shared that song by Massive Attack, Black milk. I did not know it and, to be honest, I do not like its music, but the lyric is beautiful and moving in its paradox (nevertheless, the title itself of the song is clearly a paradox):

You’re not my eater
(…) Eat me
(…) Love you for God

As to say: do not bother me, do not get me only because we are together. Do it because there’s Another, because there’s a sense out from us in doing it.

Black Milk
Liz Fraser

You’re not my eater
I’m not your food
Love you for God
Love you for the Mother

Eat me
In the space
Within my heart
Love you for God
Love you for the Mother

Mother fountain
Or live or not at all

The most level
Sunken chapel
Love you for God
Love you for the Mother

All’s there to love
Only love