Room Shohei Otomo, Sector D, Fourth Floor., Massimo Fantuzzi

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
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
Scroll to Top