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 The Dragonfly by Amelia Rosselli, translated by Giuseppe Leporace and Deborah Woodard Untitled The inferno of light was love. The inferno of love was sex. The inferno of the world was oblivion to the simple rules of life: stamped papers and a simple protocol. Four beds face down on the bed four dead friends with a gun in hand four false notes of the piano that are cause for hope. Untitled If the soul loses its gift then it loses ground, if hell is a sure thing, then the Abyssinia of my soul is reborn. If dawn resolves to die, then the river of our tears widens and God’s voice remains contemplated. If the soul is the reluctance of the senses, then love is a science which falls to the first comer. If the soul sells its baggage then ink is a paradise. If the soul comes down from its perch, the earth dies. I contemplate the singing birds but my soul is sad as a soldier at war. › Order Books |
