Antonio FACCHINO

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Any Minute Now Something Will


Any minute now something will have happened.
A cousin nudges another, pointing.

I would be lost gladly, yet there I could
Gladly lie down and sleep forever. If I close

My eyes for a minute, we are driving
Without any place in mind. I never did think

It would be my horoscope that rang true.
The skies went on forever, clouds caught

Mandarin colors and all one can do is to sip
Off of that which you're born into. No one

Coming back for a house where no one is.
Years later, a tool thrown into a snag

Some summer night, most only then she never
kept it, but zipped up, stared a while.







Ejaculation 436
+ Egg 88
_______________________


Lonesome for the reasons, interpretation
Bemoaned life amongst the blanks. Blanks
Of blanks.

Without a word he snatched up
Her hat, pitting a grid design
Of fiber against shades of brilliantine.
Pitting the blacks of polar opposite against
The blacks of the other world.

Without sign of emotion her hat startled,
Having torn off over a hill
Whereupon hills of extra unwanted
Concrete gains in the midst of the void,
Tucked in by gravity. She followed
Then, knowing that her good looks
As a reckless loose in the world
Made others see her as just that,

She lowered herself into a thin veneer
That her former looks as a reckless
Did not beguile, and promised gracefully
To part the skin of her chest
Above the heart, and on the expectant
Side of the divine to lift the cage
You see with your own eyes until
The pumping maroon views
You wander upon are those the heart wants

To be seen. As willing and not to
Forget tomorrow should tiny figures
In moods befitting one in the desert
After many hours, should one
Of these small people with jeans
And a shirt in living color, crawl
Over her aorta and toward the frame
Surrounding the heart in treble flake
Of guilt gold, when one of these should
Reach out far enough to touch the frame

And scratch with nail a message
To you, be so of patience that you could go on
Sitting forever where you are now, never
Hearing another word spoken,
Be so kind as to listen beyond the drill.
If the line is legible, is it narwhal?
Greed?

Her fingers are going to massage
That heart; like it or not
The long nails, a straightpin
Through the lip
All were yours to begin with. All
Parts having made the decision to become
You without you. Pieces knowing
Your options were narrowed beyond control

And long before bits of your father
Left his beard, diving toward
Your mother's pussy, you insisted upon
Seeing it as being about you, thinking
About it from your perspective,
Always being always me, always, me.
Me me me me me. You you you you you.




Ars Poetica


I was born. I exist no less than I insist
On the etiquette that there is one soul
Attached with a broad arrow to the brow

Of seasons greater than month or year.
I know nothing. This is told to follow me.
When my hand swung through the air
Your hand swung through the air
As your own most potent and threadbare ally.
When I asked for death, a cooled life long
Of memory. Belief says that, it does, will wait.
For another instinct, swear off thought
For thought sworn in the over-all, curving frill.
Above it, from away, I know of no thought.

Bludgeon. I walk myself into everyday.
Bludgeon. And walk away from every illness.
I have walked myself
Into my best thoughts and I.
I know of no thought
From that one cannot walk away.




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