The Bronze - heavy metal poetry

by Barabba da Seregno

and it is B A R A B B A

not B a r b a r a *

*specification necessaryfor those

who can only speak english

The man of paper

I am the man of paper
You can cut and burn me
I am the man of paper
You can use me to clean
later, if you like, you can trash me
I am the man of paper
in so many ways you'll find me useful
You can transform and rip me
I can bend to any your desire
I am the man of paper
I am slight
and I can fly

The infinite

if these words are my testament,
my love
know that
they have your voice,
your smile,
your wrinkles
and your anger
for my
late, useless
truth

Sandglass

infinite pleasure
of uselessness
accompanying
all who travel
into the flow
of falling sand
that never rises

And then is night

while I watch
documentaries on TV
I feel my wrinkles
deepen
sitting on the couch
I travel through time
and then is night

Disgust

I'm a hunter
born to kill
nerves of steel
quick as a ferret.
With my scoop
I send, in the shit-eater-paradise,
every fly ovest from the river.
I open a beer...
play for a while with the cap
and crush it in my hands.
Bended red cap: lips with teeth.
Flies buzz around me,
making me think about vultures.
I grow old and I finished
becoming more wise.
Always more fat, more slow,
more indifferent.
The flame of enthusiasm falters,
like fire in the rain, and I keep on telling myself: not today!
Do not call me, do not talk to me,
do not ask me no shit!
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will say everything,
I'll be sincere,
face the thruth...
Tomorrow.

2020 and beyond

grandpa told me
heused to swim in the river
I will tell, maybe,
to anyincidental nephew
that I used to swim in the sea,
them, poorbabies,
will never tell no shit,
to anybody

Cooking zucchini

I try to avoid meat
innocent corpses, sacrified
to our deep throat
but...
these zucchini taste like nothing
I am convinced
theyare good
for me, so
I am good too
no opulence murder
fed up with consciousness
if we could be able tolisten
without echoes of hate
unbearable, different, pointsof view
the scream of salad
(relative to the millenial oak)
would drive us crazy?

Salty leather

You sit, dangling yourfeet
detached, bored
almost careless
about my adoration
legs crossed
invitation denied
get closer and beg
I am willing to do anything
just to enter
I crawl
I lick
I implore
show me a sign
mark me with fire
Iadore

The day before

I feel as determined asJulius Caesar
badass as Lemmy Kilmister
firm on my decision,
definitive, wath the fuck!
but it is,
always, only
theday before