I can still see you still, underneath your bewilderment, pages ripped off their meaning lying between us, lying to us. The stray cat inside of your mouth keeps on crying and meowing up at my heart. I am still myself for you and I don’t know how long this will last. You’re the one not even time can tame.

Transcendence Prompt — I saw dust dancing around my fingers suspended gold, absence mirroring absence. I listened to dust dancing around my fingers mute and talkative, spoons full of ancient wars now replaced by silence. I sliced time and space into thick coordinates, to be here and somewhere else, to dip my feet into the mud of now and somewhen else. I am something different than the sum of my arts.

I forgot what you forgot to be. Time is stealing us, time is robbing us.

Prayers climb upwards as paper butterflies glide across the moment. — Butter flying in the air and my arteries, clogged by the wait, remind me we’re both stuck somewhere. This pond is an ocean for non-believers impostor syndrome approaching existence from behind in this ankle-deep mud I may drown in this false green I may drown upset beneath that stillness nervously devouring die cuts and bleeds that were meant to define space and the border between life and life

A poem dedicated to the infosphere — The coast is raining. Its perimeters are pouring. Surgical sutures across the land. Melted cities are summoned to serve my shore. My reality, my hypertext, my sense of need the sense of my need — don’t lean don’t lean back to see the unmentionable predicate of uncountable absence. Don’t be scared. I’m not here. It happens, among us earthquakes, that we forget about the faults.

A Poem dedicated to Wreckages — How did we end up here, where a request for help has the blossoming name of a spring day? I was born to answer to the messages of those who are sinking I was born to venture out on general average you don’t even declare I know only emergency procedures venez m’aider and I can’t even help, because in case of Small fire on board — now extinguished I bring it back to life I can’t tackle the blaze (I am the blaze)

La calligrafia come processo di amore, condensazione e godimento. [Non lo avrei raccontato, se non me lo avessi chiesto. Ma lo hai chiesto. Mi hai chiesto due cose: di fidarmi di te e di spiegarti questo]. L’amore per la calligrafia è il mio amore per la forma. E l’amore per…

In realtà ho litigato con la matematica e la discalculia per tutta la mia vita, ma oggi posso dare un nuovo senso al termine litigio. Mi disgusta leggermente il servilismo dell’IA: è così ossequioso, così paraculo. Mi disgusta che il training si sia basato su questo: far sentire gli umani…

Free verse — Week one I’m in charge, coated with delicacy, petals swirling mid-air, the Sun is my medium, my rays reach you in less than 8 minutes. I stand beside you like a fridge packed with pink attentions and popsicles, no fever detected, we’re dancing in your living room. You believe in…