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The Author Is Dead

Juliano Zaffino - The Author Is Dead - Blog


Juliano Zaffino

'drowning man writes sad poems / to make contact with unseen life forms'

'drowning man writes sad poems / to make contact with unseen life forms'

The drowning man is making peace
With the life he leaves behind
And the unknown that stretches out
Wave-like before him, lapping.
Out in space weightlessly waiting
For re-entry, for the impact,
In the silky blackness between stars
Moving between the planetary bodies
In search of some land inhabitable,
A body of water to sustain him.

The drowning man writes sad poems
To make contact with unseen life forms.

The drowning man is a hopeful one –
He has a lot to say, his words
Rising up out of him like bubbles
Breaking deaf on the surface.
He has a lot to say and you
Are going to listen, this dying wish.

The drowning man’s missive
Is a message in a bottle in the ocean.
Impossible to know, but it says:
“I have lived a life you wouldn’t notice
If it was played out a thousand times
In front of you, before your vacant
Stare, in a soap-opera, on the train
You take every morning to work,
In your own kitchen, because I am
An alien assuming a form just like yours,
Blending into the furniture, wallflower
Still drowning in my private life.
I am a hurricane ripping through
But I will die as soon as I stop going
And so I do not stop going, ever.
I tell you: do not stop going. Never.”

The drowning man writes sad poems
And buries hope in all that dead.

The drowning man lives until he doesn’t.

The drowning man wants to be a beacon,
Lighthouse-like for wayward sailors
Lost in coastal dark in perpetuity.
The beam rises from his throat like a scream
And breaches the body, the water,
Electric storm in some smaller pocket.

The drowning man sees a light
Seeping through the cracks
In the riverbed’s depths,
And turning sees flowers
Blooming in the distant sky.