Caio Pezzola

My poems: SEEDING THE SEED From this height the river looks like a black ribbon with curls and curves leant on the bright sand of the desert, absorbed by the horizon. The eye ball is warmly rolling along the mountains edging and the crystal beauty of the emptiness is quietly revealing the ancient planet birth. With a graceful gesture I virtually squeeze the all of it in a little ivory jar, leaving some holes on the cap to let the earth breathe and endlessly release invisible scent streams. I lay my ear on it and I get lost in a swallowing echo. Pure joy enchants me, finally feeling the life seed. NO ROOF SHELTER Air never feels so comfortable like inside an abandoned house. Dust reveals its own devoted nature laying unnoticed on dumb wreckage, even on their shadows. Seasons flow in a spiritual silence while half bricks walls hold up each other in a mutual wheeze, delighted in their endless crumpling. No one pay a visit handing over a posy, the waiting lady is now a scented ghost. Her dry lips only yearn for rain drops from the sky with no roof above her head. Ocher leaves shaping the undying carpet underneath her feet. Because a somptuous abode it's soulles beside a tumbledown mansion. SOULS PORT I am trying to deliver one tiny promise to every single glance I meet. That is the beloved task for me, walking with nimbleness through the hundreds of heavy heads hanging on the airport gates numbers. It has never been so smooth going along the imaginary rails that drive me liquidly towards the assigned destination. Let me just seize the memory of a charming face, of a purple trolley and its noisy squeaking, of a kiss release, of a golden hair wave. Wondering if my vivid thoughts could leave tangible signs on everyone shoulders, just like precious paper cuttings in a carnival luxurious party. I am crying tears of joy staring at the magnificent drawing of humanity squeezed in a glass nest. THE GRAVE CAROUSEL A perfect line of elegant people is going through the cemetery gate. It is their beloved ones day to celebrate. Every single flower bring colored shadows on the grey and white gravel that gently shapes itself under the guests heavy steps. The massive marble walls passively design the labyrinth of sleeping death and the wet dew is polishing the oval pictures frames with a photoshop lifting effect. But I can see more than that now, more than anybody else. I see the passed away as well. What a tackle