In this city where life greets you with a curse from a balcony
I long for you
in the midst of bustle and chaos I walk soaked in familiarity
and strangeness
you are everywhere like the riotous smell of frying
that follows me wherever I go
you are the sorrow-eyed squint of an old lady on the terrace
who witnesses a crime scene and keeps quiet
because nothing will ever change in this city
not the smell, not the scene, not even love and deceit
you are the love song that rattles in the afternoon
by the cobbled street: O vita! O vita mia!
you are the shout of fish peddlers at dawn
the fresh catch, the wail of knife on the whetstone
you are the crisp air in the morning I breathe with my melancholy that keeps me hungry
that my hunger extends in the gossip-ridden cafés, in noisy pizzerias,
in rowdy teenage pubs, in the smelly wet market, in the newspaper stands
where good news never comes, in busy bakeries exploding with flour,
in dark churches where sins are forgiven and repeated again outside,
in food stalls in the streets where my tongue licks every taste of you
and I can never get enough
you elude me like a rare book I could never put my hands on
and yet I read you like an open book in every dusty street of this city
you are my favorite poem I cannot remember
the faint laughter at the dark end of a danger-packed alley
you are the moan of love out of a broken shutters at night in one
of those dilapidated apartment buildings
the accent that chaps the air like a horsewhip
that inhabits the mouth of every fearless Neapolitan
in this city so loved and full of life filled with faces ancient and new,
fresh and weary, time-worn, life-worn, dark, bright, blushing,
sun-kissed, lusty, cunning, resigned, ferocious, hopeful, beautiful,
beautiful faces rush by like caffeine you carry all your secrets
in a cup of coffee so dark so sharp so heavy of memories that life
becomes a street full of songs and furtive departures
the only street I keep returning to like your thighs
I pass you and enter you like a river rushing towards the sea tormented by its thirst,
I want to fill you with the warm milk of the morning to spread and waste myself in you
just to be near you I could be anyone of those reckless motorists
that evade accidents by a hair’s breath
or anyone of those thieves who steal your money with a smile
or anyone of those foolish tourists who see nothing of the place but their faces
or anyone of the inhabitants who scorn death with a cigarette between his fingers
or anyone of those immigrants doomed to homelessness again
or anyone of those idle boys who wants to undress you
beneath the palm trees on a full moon but I’m not anyone of them
I’m the stranger who arrives in the café and you are no longer there,
the wanderer who brushes the painted walls with his fingers as though your skin
I’m the one who eats his desire like a slice of pizza full of appetite
the one who bruises his lips with coffee and call to you in pain
the one who saunters the beach with arms crossed thinking how I once
drowned in your body my hands in your waist
in this city no one understands where life is not a complex composition but
a miracle like Maradona’s hand of God
where shall I find you but in this corner grasped by the sea
where poverty abounds like sunlight like music
where hope makes face in front of a disaster
where the memories of the dead are clipped on the clothesline
where dreams are built and crumble in fire
where the beginning of romance ends in death
where Christ works in a Sri-Lankan mini market
a shot goes off in the air whether it’s the police or the mafia
I do not know
a scream is heard whizzing in the neighborhood whether its death or birth
I do not know
the rich shut their windows, the poor tend a song
the sun greets everyone in the squares, in ugly buildings
kissing the black faces of the immigrants who sell what cannot be sold
the way history can be bought but never be told
On the sidewalk a trump dreams of a shelter
much bigger than the ache in his bones,
in a park with a lonely statue soaked in bird shit
two strangers recognize each other by their pain
their heartbeats clamoring in each step under
the dying munificence of the sky
they clear their throats and read each other’s eyes in uneven breath
and the first to smile
will hand a gift of beginning
and the first to cry
will fear no ending
in your sidewalks that reek of sweat and fruit peelings,
at storefronts, at bars, along the harbor, in tiny rooms where
bodies refuse the void, against the solitude of the city, I pick up
your love like an abandoned newspaper from yesterday
same old stories: murder, economic crisis, unrequited love
the container ships are leaving the dock the powerful win
and we survive another day our rugged life that might never change
another lifetime is given to me for loving you
who is a citizen of this place but he who dreams and is disappointed
he who is disappointed and dreams
in spite of everything there is love in this city
there is no salvation but love in this city.
DoubleSpeak 