THE STATE OF AFFAIRS

In a far-away medium-sized galaxy
on the outskirts of an insignificant star cluster,
an uncountable cloud of neutrinos
drifts with no apparent disturbance
through the rocky bulk of the third world.
It rushes its way onto Jupiter or Mars,
reminding there will always be
even between the tiniest bodies
solitudes that pull apart
to the squared speed of mind-boggling
astronomical figures.
A warm sun breeds the undergrowth below.
It’s Friday, if only we had a Sunday,
landscapes switch off in the opposite hemisphere,
if it were not for the perihelion,
we could expect for an eclipse also here.
Four among the so-called physical forces
having been discovered,
gravity, far the weakest, insists
on staying out of the broad picture,
faster than light, still acting from a distance,
trying to get things closer
but making them collapse
if they dare get too attached.
A bum’s been shot
but in a nearby district,
a remote country brags about
people getting killed on assembly line
(just in case you would mind).
Many others on different occasions
haven’t known any better;
city is a jungle; living entails sure risks;
and so you can bring up other samples
of ready-made wisdom which may keep you appeased
for a day or two, no more than this.
Really bewildering is the fact
that the fine (dis)adjust
of a couple of constants
could have produced
the twisted track we tread
compelled by some sort of evicted hope,
as a forlorn house that only longs for
having a door opened, being mailed,
hearing people talking,
but grows old alone till one day
finds itself finally replaced.
Yet there is always the possibility,
for the sake of sanity, of making up further lies,
with abuse of the premises or an excess
of good reasons, unless
they also disclaim us
only too fast.
And, at the close of play,
who knows if dim lucidity
won’t turn out to be
the unsuspected recipe
for picking up the pieces
and making the best of it.
But, in the meantime, you keep asleep:
weird creatures compose
the benthonic zoo of your dreams
– you and a dead friend have a chat,
later you come across with one of your lost sonnets (sic),
on other occasion you spend the whole night
trying to put on a shirt,
or then reading a book whose letters
crumble one by one to dust,
o no, no porn stuff, nothing
worth staying here. So, do you a favour
and wake up - a whole world waits for you
on the other side of you,
and there be sure to find the horizon’s flight,
the city and its thick knit of contacts,
the lustful confusion and the clearing midday sun,
a world (impossible and implausible as it is)
as you have ever known it,
a world just like
this.