Cheesy Song to the Sea
By Francesca Stefanelli
to the Port the poverty the POV of Naples the oligochaete
to a snail I killed for mistake
and to Bell Hooks and to D.(to not Die for thee)
It was a week of mourning
the Muse from the margin had died / people were cold on the streets
the owner of my flat refused to pay her taxes
and I killed a snail
to balance the buill
but it seems like I’m a karmic bitch ///Snail king went back
in a glorious
preposterous
wet avalanche at me: the radiator broke
in my flat in the womb of the oligochaete
I am so cold, Jennifer.
Ferries
will go to bring words
and cybery seeds but I’m
tired of the land
tired of Man-
Kind, thank God I’m no
God otherwise I would think that the
Plague
spread
because of a moment of my misanthropy:
an efflorescence of spite
Going a pland
a place that’s not land
a sand maybe – limit
a place which is limin–
oh it’s so fashionable
to spell “non places, limina stations trains busses
abandoned farms white horses homeless guys” FASHION won’t fill your guts/
WHO BROKE THE RADIATOR?
I must have killed
a bigger snail somewhen
a more precious animal
maybe some emerald snake
maybe the one depicted on the facade
of Good Manners Abbey
sucking the feet of a poor bored Mary
her holy bored face
(But I don’t know, maybe she wasn’t that much into feet
maybe a nipples tipe instead)
XXX
Too much land, Verlaine Verlaine
literally pissing metaphors
Too much land, Durên Durên
breakthelanguage
city
prison
Too much land, Sorrentino[1]
sold his soul in Portofino
but forgot to pay the rights
to the Mary of Civil rights//
YOU SEE, WHEN
Blasphemy arrives
it’s a clear sign that
you have nothing left to say
and you need to leave the land //cutting
across
the polibulbic spe
ptic intestines,
silenced and sharp as a fiery vermin
going a place that’s really dear to me
the Sea – my worst
Liability
soul being: *the walker*, body :*the trip*
Hey wild boy from the Hinterland
fancy going out with me?
Hey you golden girl from Bad Taste Alley
fancy being my new souldresser?
Came to Naples to wash my sins,
wanna be my brand new rainbow twins?
A ticket for my clithoris: buy a S T A L L I O N
a token for my hubris
“Ind’o ri-o-n”[2]
Shhh
No time left to play with words
Irony’s out of fashion again
And I’m too lazy for the swords–
I can port see the now
Cutting my legs in its silvery wires
Give me water my
back pleasure
break again tongue
mine of poisono(us)
this, a poem but poems are a fact of the
Be wan land
ted to I choose to break instead
to flow and spoem and psoem and maybe land on
somewhere else
a place not a non place but
not a
place to save to care to not a
place to
cherish not to
forrow sear or pick or lain
UNSOUND THE TONGUE. Would you come with me?
Shut the light off. I can’t see anything.
[1] famous italian regist. Here’s the reference to the Naples depicted in “La mano di Dio”
[2] unofficial hymn of Naples hinterland and suburbs