The liquid library

Millions of letters
of hl of ink
slipped from the pages of electronic plastic,
gurgling down the drain cathode
through the soft tangles
of the boned cans
at easy opening
for for the masses geriatricly inept
at the lapidary chewing.

And juices of squeezed eyeballs
with little umbrellas of false eyelashes
at the tables a few steps from nothing
in planned holidays on the videorecorder,
of the happiness ordered by phone
with the sacred right of withdrawal,
that maybe I’m not happy
to eat every night
steaks of cloned models
and vegetables genetically logorrheic
that keep me awake
all the holy nights
of this life added with carbon dioxide.

[italian version]

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