The Pavement Artist






Andiamo!Ho le ali. Andiamo!

Let's go!I have wings.Letís go!


The chalk is ingrained in the grooves of my skin,

a rainbow of pastel dust muddied to iron ore,

the core of me sludge now.


I have drunk drudgery,

through sluggish osmosis become

a cartoon fool in the lap of God, destitute,

a prostitute who sold his soul

for a mess of nickel and gold,

a pimp who put a twinkle in the eye

of too many virgin madonnas.


My knees are calcified, callous

to this pleading pavement,

these pennies not proper payment

for such prostration.


I have lived through

too many winds, too many wars,

my face a battlefield of random colouration -

the pigment, sour and chapped,

my mouth a tight slit

spitting jagged hesitation.


In the beginning I was love,

a conjurer of images which flowed

from passionate heart to jagged hand,

which filled guttering holes

and stilled the wandering mind.


I was in my element,

I was sublime.


But now, itís more than can be endured:

the chalks burn me to cold cinders

and I am no longer inured

to the savaging of time.








In sleeping, in sinking ever downwards,

in the dull drugged search

for forgotten wings, I am enslaved

to a triple headed hydra who I can never know:

a bastard hybrid of Leonardo da Vinci,

Botticelli and Michelangelo.




His clawed fingers

clutched around this brittle body,

my head ground into the pavement,

skull scraped down to a pigment

of polychromatic fury.

I am the jealous Jehovah

giving birth to a tribe of demons.

I am the Delphic Sybil

stirring entrails in quicksilver fire.


Per amore, andiamo!


Sketched out on these cold slabs,

I am an icon,a corpse -

my nakedness an invition

for genuflection and masturbation.


Here, in my lap, is the Christ child

with lips of lapis lazuli,

a goitred face, sucking all the goodness

from these withering flowers

that once were breasts.


I am a tumbled chalice.I am a kiss.

I am the rust that creeps upon you.

I am cut crystal singing out.I am

rivers running with blood.I am

the apocalpse.I am the flood.







Such nightmares, such dreams,

to wake from a paralysis

and find you on top of me,

that I am inside you

and not being raped by the pope

and a gang of satanic priests -

††††††††††† I am overwhelmed,

excited, exhausted.




And yet, nauseated

by the clashing cacophony

of chalk skin against chalk skin,

the smell of copper

ringing from your fingers.




My head full ofsacrelidge

as you bring yourself off,

squeezing tight down upon me

like a hot mountain.


Per amore!


And somewhere inside me

an unfelt eruption

as the alarm clock ejaculates

its facist waking call.




Our overalls tangled on the floor,

waiting for another day

of uncertain survival.


Andiamo!We must rise up now!

Andiamo! Per amore di amore!









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