THE PRIEST - Pier Giorgio Di Cicco Poems


Poems » pier giorgio di cicco » the priest


i am not really there.
that is what tires me. invisibility.
it is exhausting. persona cristi.
it is not being there. leaving your body at home.
looking forward to it.
it is being whoever they think, the clothes they put
on you, their love their hate, their father;
whoever they need; it is the ultimate acting,
with Christ moving your lips.

in one sense it should be tireless,
but it is like being in the air too long;
you could almost want to move through
household furniture and have supper
but not belonging has taken you to an abstract.
you are perfect for it.
when you learned to love something in everyone,
you were done for. a lease for
Christ. and you thought you were
going to the party as yourself.

one day you almost miss the man you were,
the body at the house.
what would you say to him?
rise, own yourself, forget what you know?
what is the kiss that wakes him?
what kind of stories does he like to hear?
what do you say to an exhumed ghost?
he gave his life for you that you might be
invisible, like this;

butterfly, the colour of everyone's
heart, what do you want of the corpse
you escaped?