Secret Last Year (A Calendar Twelve-tone) [4. April, maybe], by Adriano Spatola

The sun is made of many mysterious concepts
cowardly resentments with listless rotation
they say they don’t say but they demand attention
something rotten a little enlarged or rosy
a slight lividness applied to our pettiness
with light brush strokes exhausted by the heat
I speak of the heat that spoils and enthuses
of this black and magic heat that doesn’t survive
innocuously childish to the organism’s purpose
softened by the veritable verities drawing near
in April which is the fourth month of the year


 More by Adriano Spatola:

The Composition of the Text, by Adriano Spatola — 1 an adjective breathing the window open the insertion’s exact dimension in the rustling of pages or see maybe how the text uses the body see how the work is cosmic and biological and logical in nocturnal voices in auroral explosions in the croaking scratching scraping setting fire here under the soft sky sticking all […]

Secret Last Year (A Calendar Twelve-tone) [4. April, maybe], by Adriano Spatola — The sun is made of many mysterious concepts cowardly resentments with listless rotation they say they don’t say but they demand attention something rotten a little enlarged or rosy a slight lividness applied to our pettiness with light brush strokes exhausted by the heat I speak of the heat that spoils and enthuses of this […]