Craig Goodworth, Ecotone Study #2, Liptov (projected image 6), 2016
ROOM SHOHEI OTOMO, Sector D, Fourth Floor. (Natural recurrences, subsequential relapses: how to spot them, deal with them in an orderly manner. On a personal level, however, few things now horrify me more than a window wide open over Milan, at a time when the first warmth hints at another vivid and uncontrollable, fragrant foraying spring afternoon.) Feels, try rust, grazing each touch the gaudy skin underneath blisters of cardinal piety. April’s death crib rising quietly, incense on harbouring, better days he saw, over obscurities and walkabouts. Dispensing lost courage stands, a wrinkled face the thousand regrets accompanying each one its own whisper if anything, a craft will soothe. ‘Tu sei sereno, vero papà?’ Already herd out of its course, the exact mercury slot of my pulse runs into another detention, a deletion from what a husky tune the old drunken deeded, lagged abaft his own staggered plea, lax regalia to summon down the cavalry, work, work and more work and trotting by the beds of this revered infirmary: metal impartial frames, votive beads and stiff skin-colourless his sheets airing at the squadron sun pitiful regard the demise of any attainment rota. ‘The thing I hate the most is to not remember his voice.’ Haggled stale air discovers new residence: up and down the trench, I still hear him say, ‘Way in vain thoughts, cross and fire at unchecked will, and that’s that.’ We came as promised, soft dark as a murmur thump to last; his long due blessing to follow the card played from beyond his side to split the pack, grazing each touch, the gaudy skin underneath blisters of cardinal piety. _________________________ Massimo Fantuzzi