I look at the black mouth of the hill from the crimson slit
of a skylight. Inside, Dissection’s Into Infinite Obscurity whitens
my thick morning walls. I smoke Winston Blue straight from a rib of the night.
A random TV channel spits out something about childhood fairy tales.
Another plays a psychic’s commercial. His neck haloed
with ticks and incense, as the same voice in the background makes
a phone number roar like a corpse washed up on the shore by too many currents.
snooping around the edges of my bones
as my fingers-proboscis type I-Ching.
In the meantime, I read the astral charts of all the people I know (82).
I twisted myself into a skeletal blanket, in the devoured smell of my cat.
The next-door boy and his friends – little
tachycardia of the night – are rather estuaries flowing into a
freshwater laughter, spilled down the gloomy
stairs of a block of flats. I distinctly feel that one of them is
drowning at this very moment, as the zeroes of the clock
are pulling up their socks and entering everywhere,
and I save these insignificant facts from the holocaust of midnight.
Alessandro Vitali was born and is resident in Macerata. He has a degree in Anthropology and Social Research from the University of Siena. Previously, he studied Modern Literature at the University of Macerata. Currently, he writes poems, dramaturgies and short stories. He has also participated in some collective painting exhibitions in Rome and Palermo. He works as a teacher in Italy.