the indentation of the final hollow
a voice burrows itself
in the privilege of restraint
last coat of the beast-like heat
before the outside splinters
and ESCAPES
I remain within the whimper of holy silence
in the utter fruition of my peripheral intelligence
I am where I know I will be forever
settled
in authentic pelt and cloven horn-nubs
lay an embargo on my voice it's costing me
----------------------------------------------------------
who knows if by grunting the pig interrogates himself
upon his true nature
certainly I
ask my overladen
grunt
to proffer some surprises
I articulate a flower
and the butterfly arrives in her easy way
to chirr in the grasslands of my speech
voice that is butterfly
goes where eye cannot follow
----------------------------------------------------------
I search for the GORILLA-WORD
that in the dense clamor might inflate itself high and mighty
truncating appriopriately
in its uproar might absorb all the green
buzzing of light
but the nose
flayed of fur will be
smooth mountain pink
that it see for me lithe and cunning
the cast net of the good and bad wood
first vowel wide nostril
damned mother
and the rest solidly dissolved in black
Milli Graffi - A Milan-based poet and editor of Il Verri
translated by Michael Gizzi
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