The Rapist

In incongruous filthy paths,
with pigeons too fat to fly,
I walk and wonder
how my life would have been
if, wandering and wondering,
your life had been

You were not saying a word,
not even begging a cent;
you were simply stating:
I, am, dead.

But an incorruptible bang shot
-a first, a second, a third-
louder then you did
at your fall into that ocean of dust
and broken leaves.

Drop after drop,
from you arms oozed
the prize anxiously held
by your fellow citizens,
and in a frame of incommensurable grace,
the line of your betray
shaped with no delay
the distinctiveness of your national race.

The Prime Minister says:
this is just a gap
to mind,
everything is fine.

The symbol of his land
rung and rings
to keep the pace
-louder and louder-

Oh Signore nell’alto dei cieli!





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