Forthcoming in Vestiges_00: Ex-Stasis

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could have stayed away from the observation point, never again to say

a word about the shadowed part with no one, evaluating distances with eyes

used to a hypothetical explosion, to precede like one proceeds amongst variables

and cautions, proximity to collapse, tracing again the once combusted edge

of anything seen that could be lived, simulating the accelerated wail,

its sound at every interval: I gaze nevertheless at what remains, if I haven’t got

anything left to remember besides releasing clothes that smell

only of that which was yesterday and won’t return, far away, always,

unable to change the motion, the core of the beat, the rhythm

of every surface, the idea of correspondence with things that are done

with hands, when chaos is part of induced words,

imposed by the environment, said or maybe perceived,

just again beat on the film of the world.


pointing to the cause of the phenomenon, thinking of what you’ll never see again

or save in the docile memory of others, kept apart, sliding

on the groove skipping on the short period of years you forget

how it happens with it all at least once in existence, reactivated to the touch

of a light that arrives if it runs through matter, it reaches earth,

crashing into the perception exposed to the flux of downpours and of intersections

tides that lash over its bystander, leaping over him as he passes the limbo

of icons, the magnetism of all that is crossed: announcing

causes and proofs, fixations, trying to figure out if here is the strip

of passage or if it is the brain the organized mass of that no,

I can’t, I’m sorry, the impression of a shadow casting a wall

against a wall in the distance, the choice of a mid-range haul:

we are still to be moved away from the bang if it intervenes

in us the excavation, the closed and mute extension inside the orbit.


I’ll always find violent the idea of having names, to throw them around as if they were

trophies for mixed associations, in nerves, bundled, septa and lodgings,

thinking they are something else and not signals of existence, if then from these

are born shoots, inert substances, after-shadows, realities

not regular and infected for passages shifted from one line to the other,

invalidated once you decide you’ve got to take back your life,

in reticula of actions, sidelines from which organisms send out messages,

the cells that you recognize inside rivers more complete for the scalp

and beyond measure, and then perfect, they let themselves call in oceans

more saturated and volatile, if possible, from one day to the next. with a name

one loses the advantage that is left to the living, poised to take

burdens and faults from the genome, ready to reach the lost ones

in the mouth of the beast, yielding to total emptiness or the most selective:

peace as it may follow, inert, disarticulated in the light.


Daniele Bellomi lives in Monza and received a Master’s Degree in Lettere Moderne at the University of Milan in 2014. His first poetry book, ripartizione della volta (poesie 2009-2012), was published by Cierre Grafica/Anterem Edizioni in 2013, and his second book, dove mente il fiume (poesie 2012-2014), will be published by Edizioni Prufrock Spa in January 2015. Other published texts have appeared in the reviews il verri, L’Ulisse, and Trivio; the anthologies Parabol(ich)e dell’ultimo giorno. Per Emilio Villa., EX.IT 2013, and Totilogia. Involatura sulla poesia di Gianni Toti; and the online journals Poesia da fare, Niederngasse, GAMMM, Nazione Indiana, lettere grosse, Poetarum Silva, Rebstein, Critica Impura, and Carte nel vento. In 2011 he founded (with Manuel Micaletto) the blog-project plan de clivage, which focuses on experimental poetry, non-narrative texts, and asemic writing.

Anton Ivanov is a founding editor of Black Sun Lit. He can be found on Twitter @batailleordie. 

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