Mariano Peccinetti, Mount Moon

As I must grow old 

And wilt

With the laws of gravity;

The horror is surreal

Of balding the moon off her throne

Into the sterile. 

How is that they must define us as a lack 

And in the same breath

Call the lands which could not bear the life

A null 

A void? 

So must I be

Either empty or full?

I wish I was easy as the glass. 


Monochrome Ariel

Mare Zebras in floral rain-coats 

flood past Sir Ladyfinger’s ship.
I had never seen so many stripes

Hunkering past the local skirt-shop.

And so my shoes garbled out few vowels to

The ocean-bed,

Hot with pregnancy

Of neither pink nor blue.
 In life

I chewed on sea-apples and grew up an Eve.

Started tying serpents on my neck for boardroom-meetings.

Lended my fingernails

 to a knight upon a sea-horse–

off to the colour-bind land

I went

to wear frolicking babies; 

one on the basin

The other on the stove.


Until a mismatched rainbow hatched the monochrome ground

From where I broke


To birth myself again


In collage. 


My eyes are thawing the mist, gradually
for I was the sight of the winter moon
Leaping into the lofty landscapes,
floating in the afternoon muse.

I began to rustle the wind, a little more
as my eyes can’t stop their peering
as if a dimension has adorned the panes
Separate from the world of moist eyes.

I gather my soul
and poured it into the woods
as they transplant me up the monsoon hills
Churning me inside the lacy grass,
gazing up at the migrant birds.
By the rivulet with amber like eyes
Mourns a sea breeze, slow
And all is now what is left of me,
lingers at the window.

My visions emboss my thoughts
as they nurture on the panes
wavering like distant shadows
of a nymph of the southern rivulet.

© Priyanka