Last Supper

Lay me soft on green grass like an offering. Take off my clothes, one at a time like you are opening the Holy Book. Read the verses of my body until you master all chapters. Drink from my river of life, make me your altar wine, your last supper. Welcome to my ecclesia! Let’s sing…

A Nation in Labour

The Republic is in labour, screaming pacing the political ward, cursing the colonial midwife for telling her to push. Her head is spinning, vision blurred mind inside out. She drinks a cup of counterfeit morality & blubbers a prayer of hope for the stillborn baby. The Republic is a headless chicken with a body that…

Fixable

You are fixable, hold my hand & let me mend your brokenness. It will hurt less, the falling & crushing; you will get better at sculpturing your bits & pieces. I won’t leave. I’ll wait for daybreak & we’ll figure out what to do with all this sunshine. Link to the Italian translation