I am sure
I’m sure life is unbeatable research’s holy, dancing uplifting for an animal like me a beast rocking around a feast with implacable sound a cascade of tongues, licking my noise rainforest of frogs, a sweaty magnolia the wardrobe is open: go lash out otherworldly yours, I am sure, hysteria I’ll meet you again some point during the shift My grandma My grandma's sandy skin like chopped pecans delight me stands for comfort and bitter sorties the dysfunction and re-joining the colossal, quasi-expressionistic soul hidden behind despair a husband who tried to bury you alive we crossed disquieting silences and productive scowls, you would get my temper teetering on the blink of a slap you would assure me with a pair of eyes and I, gasping with delight would ask you for a hug yet passion is so much stauncher when doesn't stride out from the chest when it keeps quiet and invest the beauty of a kiss embroidered in your throat so I keep on kissing you and you never get enough and I shall never pass on feeling your son, through your daughter's act a replica of a miracle Yesteryear I loved you for so long that I no longer remember the sparse sprinkles of your smile left on the breakfast table the stealthy appearances in my worst nightmares sucking off your boredom by punching my face and I would thwack the pillow and it would vomit back a bunch of brand new fears it was only yesteryear You were my father a secret I’d never share if it wasn’t for life giving us roles too big to handle too heavy to fit so we stick with deliveries clumsy attempts, theatrical moves worried so much we’ll get very little in return I forgive you now that I’ve crossed the embryo of your eyes when I saw you crying hard because you had failed me before I was even born I touched your shoulders to remind you that we unfold over ungrounded skins we never really get in and when we get the chance to squeeze a pulsing heart the sun hatches its grin to tickle our arrogance straight to its lungs to tell us how insignificant fighting over pride can be if I unintentionally see you would go ahead an rehave me discarding the sperm that didn’t win to be me Bio: Aldo Quagliotti is an Italian poet living in London, UK. He's the author of Japanese Tosa (London Poetry Books), Confessions Of A Pregnant Man (AllienBuddha Press) and Incubi&Succubi. His poems have been rewarded in Italy, Brazil, USA, Canada, Ireland and in the United Kingdom. He has been selected for important anthologies such as Paper therapy,Yawp!, The Essential anthology, Murmurations, Poetical Word, Poetry in the Time of Coronavirus. Several webzines and magazines have published his work, such as INNSÆI, U-rights, Credo espoir, Parouisia , Poetica Review and many more.He has been chosen to represent the Poetry Corner at the London Chelsea + Kesington Art Week. 2020,2021 and 2022 editions
Fevers of the Mind 