Eternal Devices

di Madio Vincenzo

What am I supposed to be?
I'm like a nightrunner with a hairdryer in my hands,
crossing the empty palmaceous roads,
looking at the kasbahs'haystacks,
Bedlam will rest my countryside.
Dorothy put her bootes on,
my smear is just taking off
laces-up and black veils.
Gospel voices and complaints
the palmers and the olives;
Bellydancers,
that's the flavour of my last night on earth.