Casa Robino

You should wish to have a hundred thousand sets of mothwings,so you could burn them away, one set a night.The moth sees light and goes into fire. You should see fireand go toward light.[Rumi]There was a plum against the glass bowl of the sky, today, from switzerland to colorado. Purple, black, dormant. In my hands lay The Sunflower by Simon Wiesenthal; the story of a young man, jewish, being called into a hospital by a SS guard to be asked for forgiveness. Dismal, ghastly, so far removed from the poetic and of roots. Thrown into a great depression for quite some centuries. Then – there is nothing that could possibly be worse than to fail to live at its greatest heights. I am sick. All the moments of anti-life come to laugh at me, each becoming separate pieces of granite. I lift my feet off the ground feeling their drool and cackle. Be gone with you! It begins to rain. The plum dripping all over me.Feel like exploding in the worst possible way.I enter my first english class.Always explode.Sinbad, hush, the nights are long are full, waiting just for you, not you for them.Later, sitting on the balcony over the hills, the street lights shimmering, I gaze out at venus, the evening star. You are so far but you are closer than skin.