Is It Good To Run When On Your Period

For Ugo Lanzalone



I can not say, I can not say I do not know

closed out of the pit, not the gestures made by the penumbra of

moments in which, by the sense of being unfriendly, and not just admit
,
nod, recompose

all the more empty I
whole outline satisfies me anything,
and I can not tell, I can not tell you
what I told you not aware
what I have kept silent silent

not yet in, it could never become more, and there
miss this
for being too touched
for not being sure of what we


not be popular enough to have been insufficient

che si fa norma, la pochezza che
si fa regime, la nullatenenza che
acuisce le spine, e abbiamo altro
e questo altro non lo so proprio dire
non so dirlo, non so dirti

ora che il silenzio si fa regola
inalterabile, se non dalla pioggia
che non vuole smettere di cadere
dalla parola unilaterale,

dalla preghiera, per chi la vuole pregare
dal sogno per chi sa l'utopia,
dall'ipotesi di un futuro migliore
da parole antiche, quasi perse

quel comunismo, anarchico,
tuo primordiale, a falci e martelli,
e possibili giorni più belli,
dai tuoi spazi liberi,
condivisa poesia, e cibo,
that you loved but could not, you saw a moment


more than whole, part of a whole

a sense, far from
burp existential
we do not have, you do not ever want to accept


and I've put , we have made,
you put in your poems, and you stopped
place,
name, while, with
delicate gesture of infinite love, infinite love
suffered,
delicate and profound Essert
be inside

and now we just have to wait

not know then what it is to be a more
that is the case, a cell full
a god, a goodbye, a soon to a
nothing planted nell'oltre
goodbye, still find again a

to read the time and now
with the way that you know embroidery
tenacious patience with slow
word after word after
essence essence

and every step is a rock
every line every wall
weight
you a sense of a new lightness

and anger, and polished irony, invective
, is central to
of what we do,
to mix with the docile clay
opportunities

with the desire to question
that it is collective,
single thought, why
who thinks he's the only

sun sooner or later,
always returns to overdo it,
on this sheet of rain

crying tears of
do not know the tears will soon
tears of hope, which moves
to exist and then,
and then just can not tell

I can not say what we become
the blame for all the wrong moves
missed opportunities, ideas


not revealed, and all we could, we could
, paintings from attentive

hatch of your words.

Joseph Spinillo