Dom Gabrielli-

Pasolini Rex

there is no wine left

there are no laughs

as the storm descends

with cold under its torrential arm

there is no idiom left

to dispel this hell

there are no films to eject

the instant into rhetoric

there is no being no meaning

no oscillation of heart and pen

there is no desert

dead the sand

there is no sea

blank the tides

there are no hearts

blood clotted the image

the genocide porn of the mind

the mutilation of desire

youth abandoned to the bare bone

from the Roman hill where you were murdered

gathered one last time to the halt of living

to the knife edge

what cuts is no longer

the hesitant kiss

does not attract its believer

the incomplete poem

has lost its ink

it dries in a vain desert for recycled criminals

who laugh as they decapitate intellectuals

where the mafia do what they can to complete the opera

with all their complacent apologists

all their faussaire filmmakers

they found an empty road

they turned off the cameras

drove their money into elegant malls and banks

whoever they saw soon blind

listeners losing ears to fictional gunshot

drowned in millions of joyful pills

dawn has not

since you died

love has rarely

since your assassination

retreat again

into the simple hole of scream

i did not cry i could not

because your words were by my side

i put them into fists

i saw the menagerie they called politics

i wrote from nowhere

for no reason

i wrote a poem

into your poem

i wrote a poem to hear you

sing a poem

to my poem

poems once you sang

i never heard twice

but i should have

the desert had grown

the mafia slang creeping across ivy coloured borders

dialects many dying in the candlelight eve

no one to stoop down and write their resurrection

there will be no tomorrow

no more light

just the willing to raise a body

from a premature grave

to hold a penis as day becomes night

to write what is left of words

across a scroll of broken dreams

you can laugh at anything

you can destroy everything sacred

you can ignore every book written or sung

to the point of losing even the prick

of your heartbeat

down a stray strolling drunk alley

into a fight to the death

with black gloves and white teeth

which emissary likened you to a god

which million of drunken dollars killed a prophet

sing to me now

i have listened

longer than most

long enough

to play this dead Italian music

Dom Gabrielli studied literature at Edinburgh and New York Universities and prepared for his doctorate in Paris and New York. Gabrielli’s passion for French literature and thought led him to begin writing, translating, and teaching. He translated widely including published works by Bataille,  Leiris and Jabes. In the early 1990’s, he left the academic world to travel and devote himself to writing. He has published two books to date. The Eyes of a Man (2009), his first book of poetry, and The Parallel Body (2010), which earned considerable praise. Several new books are on their way. Gabrielli has also published several individual poems and interviews, notably at Leaf Garden Press, The Poetry Bay, Vox Poetica and Real Stories Gallery. Gabrielli's books are here:

http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/search?searchTerm=dom+gabrielli&search=search. His own whereabouts on an axis between language and nowhere.