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Pisciatoio de Nero in Zero world

[reveries from many years viewings of Fellini's 'Amacord' -
'Pisciatoio de Nero' means 'black pissoir' in Italian]

'Hear me a moment...
Perhaps it is better
if the jubilee of small birds
dies down, swallowed in the sky...

The senses are graced with an odor
filled with the earth.' - Eugenio Montale, 'The Lemon Trees'

the blowing spring blossoms
the falling snow
the sex-crazed madwoman
has her place and is made place for

in the seaside town - Gradicia
sacred prostitute
important to matters of State

of stuttering male
desire of all ages

at film end her
marriage
a new beginning for all

motorcyclist
as Time too
zooms in/out
punctuates
scenes throughout

spring blossoms again
return the final scene

the ubiquitous blind
accordion player
Time's other guise

pestered by brats
perpetually pull his tattered hat

plays throughout
eternal return

*

film family
the schizophrenic brother/
uncle of papa/nephew
climbs a tree on an
out-of-the-asylum family picnic

the day is late
family needs to leave
countryside for city

Tio, uncle, refuses to
descend from the tree top
end of the stony world

loudly shouts
hours over quiet
farmland and fields,

I WANT A WOMAN!

I WANT A WOMANNNNNN!

deeper sanity reveals
in his call for the restoring
Woman

the sanity of Desire
his coniunctio
(consummation call)
in the arms of a tree

rocks tossed
plucked from
coat pockets
rags
keep saner
interlopers at bay below

the love-mad one
in piss pants
sways embraced of
the Woman Tree
reunites vistas
seen above
tearing opposites
of the seen world
mean in over
extended glory

coagulates
the promised
black boots
of State

Unpersuaded he

in primeval arms
innocent
returns to life

wants a wife
or lover

lightens his load
throws stones from
threadbare

pockets full o full
upon the glass house
the loo-loo world

spread out beneath him
a 'pisciatoio de nero'
in Zero world.

*

actively dreaming I am
of a cabin, some woods
(or Tio's Tree) or Mexico
mountain crotch

draw water from
artesian well deep
bathe with night stars

swelling in night-mirage

heat vectors from day
heated earth making

giddier stars dance...

my vocation then -

porch sit
write
pick up
paints again
seek the missing

Ear

hike/walk/wobble
a patch of canvas
dirt squabble
the 3-legged
dog his name
is 'Trinidad'
(his 3 legs)
whose meanness
knows an evil man
when he sees one

cogitate to more write
cook simple fare
raise some corn
a little hay the locals
that itch of skin for
skin embrace Tio's
primal call to sin over
into the blurred sanity
of digitally hog-tied
corralled world too
easily pixilating O dust
to dust

after all is said/done

Go back in time then
'io recordo amacord '
is always circular
as space is not linear
but spherical live off
grid as chimera
an old man tin-can spit-
cup in hand can without
doing harm to self chewing
a niggardly weed tobacco
growing wild in Mexico
ditch and dale

will need espresso
wine nearby (or larders
laid coolly in the ground
for chill and preserve) ,

space large enough for
books and to entertain
2-leggeds - even
Trinidad come to pant
happily at my heels -
who will come if they
come for counsel
talk story
dirty jokes

side by side silent
readings an occasional
'hear this' something
then read aloud which
becomes bread
heads nod agreement
smiles and meals beneath
the witnessed reel of
glancing stars gathering
stones at dusk filling
their pockets own
while climbing
World Tree at apogee
they downward turn
fling themselves low
toward the dawn stumbling
Sun alone fire seeking
fire

I WANT A WOMAN!

I WANT A WOMAN!

in such male heat
Light cries up/
reveals the morning
dove the crow their
sonorous response
to the Sun's Call,
different as they are
unconcealed...

what is revealed:

the mouse in the hole who loves the hole,
how the serpent's tail shimmers as one has
tossed it with a very long stick out the door
shouting - the door shouts too - 'be gone!
no more! ' one has learned to shake the
sheets, the pants, the socks, the topsy
turvy heel-worn shoes before the getting
into because scorpions and spiders dwell
therein and even a snake loves a warm bed,
my pillow for its head, found a skin shed
on a flower-patterned pillow case where
fleecy lambs forever pink silently low
as the cloth grows thin from head wear
dream wear because I was once a sleeping man

(this happened
to me

lived 3 great years
a mountain
one hundred year old house no electric
a well for water
spring house chill in
cold mountain spring
milk butter meat
thick mesh and laden
plywood over basin
keep critters out

bathing
on the porch at night
(so the shy mountains could
not see) from rain water
gathered rhythmically
from the tin roof tonal
toks
glocks in pots all kinds) ...

*

but for now
out the theater
into city street
I've been drawn
out and now

long overdrawn

am drawn the
more in
drawn in
not sketched out
but stretched as such
state old men are or
soon to be, arrive
their ire in retire
crow songs
strong for not
too much longer

but damn it all

hear such
being here hurts,
stone stars

I'm cold! I'm cold!

I shout up to them
Sun star tumbling old
bodies down to dirt song
of the earth

'Das Lied von der Erde'

I will listen then
as I do now, Mahler's,
pour out red wine
hiss at the intrusive
mouse herald of The End
in alto sung

over-strung/wrought-out
I will listen will
recover such enough
air around to go on
sing my song
a tio-tangle in
treelimbs the kind
Van Gogh still somewhere
paints

knees, sore,
now and always
a call
to prayer
to woo

in old boots
worn leather
weak knees
make me to
existence/being
adore

to which I
have only just

in a dream

renewed my wedding vows.

poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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