Una donna androide arriva alla città di frontiera.
È una delle migliaia che acciottola questa strada
tra le stelle, in cui assortimenti vari e servizi
sono venduti a caravanserais e carri coperti.
Le strade sono silenziose oggi, il casello ricorda
l’Arc de Triomphe. Lei pesta una sfinge,
i cinegiornali hanno già conquistato
i cine-ologrammi. I bassi della sigla
le rullano sui timpani, ma lei pensa
alla donna color lavanda, la sua quota vendite,
il tipo giusto di frutta da comprare alle figlie,
tre in tutto, giocano con le bambole, climatizzate,
destinate a fini epiche. E gli ingranaggi della sua mente
si spostano ed io sto guardando il mio amore che balla
senza camicia sotto l’acqua di una stella lontana chiamata New Jersey.
[Originale in inglese di Ng Yi-Sheng, ‘Science Fiction’]
is the best place to start
when you’re lost for words
because, apart from the troubles
you’ve saved yourself from
having to think of a beginning,
all you need to work out
is how to retrace your steps
walk backwards, in heels if needs must
in lines in the sand and the dust
and trust me, it gets easier.
Because maybe it’s just a phrase
you’re going through.
And you’ll figure out
that in your end may very well be your beginning,
but – and this is just a feeling, Toto –
we are not in Little Gidding any more
so carry on. Walk.
Run if you must, run from the living
run through the dead, empty words
that brought you here in the first place.
Run until the air burns in your lungs
sounds stick to your tongue
piercing your throat
with peaks of voice.
Pick apart the rain now rushing
on your skin, washing the world
clean of the steps you
took on your way to the end
of your life-long sentence
the full stop with no real cause
attempting to order the clauses
clawing at each other
scratching each other
into your mind and fingers
wanting to spill onto the page.
And when, not if, you lose your thread
make sure to tread carefully
on your own or someone else’s dreams.
Apologies can only do so much
and minds are fragile things,
thumb prints can burn and stay
on blood and ink and skin
so think before you speak
but always, always speak your thoughts.
And run, or walk if you must
carry the weight, count the prints
you left on your route here
close the circle and return
back to the place where you started
all the way back to
from there to here
and bridging gaps
on darkened rooms
and putting up mirrors
that either reflect
or generate light.
Looking at tapestries
but from the back,
or being unfaithful.
into other containers
and even squeezing jellyfish.
We’ve had enough.
We’d rather be lifted
on broad dark wings.
On broad dark wings
over fields and crops.
Sowing and spreading
only to please
only to please you,
dear reader, and bring
other words to your eyes.