We is I, I is We

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Children play in the confessional:

We is I and I is We.  There are

problems with canes and crutches

always, as prostheses discarded

are reclaimed on Mondays.

Nous rendons grace a

But the chantier fund

needs chanting up.

No hymnal, but the choir

which had seemed recorded

was real.  Professional beggars

and a cold sun on Rue St. Jacques.

The suicide’s apartment

has been cleaned up.  The piles

of jouets d’infants  gone le matin

and winter on my tongue.

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“Congress shall make no law”

Palazzo dei Congressi.


Of the congressi,  

by the congressi ,  

for the congressi.

You might as well

read a book, people.

The congressi, like

a dormant volcano,

are not coming to

your life.  The congressi

have gone to the lake,

to the bar and the bank,

themselves to consider.

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Giuseppe Penone, at Palazzo della Civilta Italiana, FENDI ROMA

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Pigneto Street Art

A wonderful off-the-beaten-path neighborhood of Rome. This is not graffiti.  These are not taggers. It is organized and, surprise to me,  adds to the community, which is home to a spectrum of socialist through anarchist views.

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Annette Messager at Villa Medici


These are two of the installations of French artist Annette Messenger now showing at the Villa Medici in Rome. At first they appear conventionally grasp-able, even softly lovable. But as they draw you into them, your presumption of familiarity evaporates, and you are looking into something unsettling, wondering “Can she really mean that?”

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DEF:  “a person or animal having both male and female sex organs or other sexual characteristics, either abnormally or (in the case of some organisms) as the natural condition.”

The pose of this hermaphrodite is one of the most common, but the sculpture is one of the oldest, brought from Greece to Rome around 100 BC.  It is in many ways the most subtle nd beautiful of all.

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Cleveland — The Flats


Ruin, wreck, wasteland,

a Sunday morning poem,

a green light for seagulls:

Take it.  Take it out of

itself.  Make fences flower,

find rhythms in rust, there’s

flats and sharps on this staff,

if I make  it sing.

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Gelateria Fassi


I am the only one left
in this deserted gelateria,
the only audience sustaining
these lovers. Even the scoopers,
who were flirting, are collecting
their coats. It will be awkward,
baggy lovers, soul-smooching
with your cashmere gestures,
for you to continue without me.
What will happen if remorse
creeps under the door? I can
stave off stinging regret too,
the thousand compromises that
will destroy you, yes I alone
keep you present — mostly
I think, because your hands.

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the sculpture of Cosimo Carlucci of Lecce

Below, “Violenza” (1960)  and two other pieces by Cosimo Carlucci at the Museo Storico Citta di Lecce. Worth a trip to southern Italy just to see these.





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Snowy Christmas Creche in Lecce – Roman Amphitheater


First snow in ten years so no
cats in the ruins, no Pugliese
in the vicolo, but lucky for us
espresso and pasticiotto at
I’vino, where an efficiency lives
that belies Lecce’s streets.

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