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Big Ben

Aldo Quagliotti

Dear world,
I wish i could keep you
As intact as one can stay
As distant from sadness
As a platform waving the departing train
Yet you slip out of my hug
fall into wrinkles and white hairs
I tend my arm to reach your guts
And then you react
And tell me
Would you please just let me live
And i have misheard you once again
So for once I'll let you leave

Your verses are so pretty
that I believe you invented words

so long ago

stretched your mouth ungracefully
coups d'oeil to make me fall in love
came to erode my fears
and I fire ate your flames

sip by sip to flush out the mystery of meanings
never affixed to our cracked heels

so to speak

we have stepped on so many soils
that the holy wind is alongside our ankles
that the spirit can’t be sharpened
but elevated through the coffees
you make daily to awake me from torpor

Who am I, I asked the tarnished window
It stays quiet and still,
Like this planet that is orbiting
Yet no one can perceive
I too keep moving so uneventfully
That the sun is farther away from me
So i grab pastel colours
For this darkness approaching
I will let it sit on my lap

For I am the spirit of the forest,
a sketched shadow, stalking the light
the heartbeat that I can feel
when you penetrate me
a sounding board that shares alternatively
the joy of osmotic feels
the pulses evaporating from verses
the meaning of diverse
a lovely relationship, but inverse.

When I dance my feet are one
and the joy tickles me so violently
that have spasms and forget my address
I name colors so undefined
that the night is so dramatic
the brightness it charges
fuses my movement
in an overflow of duties
overlong cuddles
to the foggy ground
I keep on flowing through the tune
my hips multiplicate like multiverses
I lick the muddy soil to remind my teeth
that everything comes from myself
and returns to me
and that’s the power of giving
carrying the receiving within

When my crockery crashes
with such irksome croaking
my mind disperses its thoughts
running spaghettis through the colander
I think back about my timing
flailing my arms, maybe hours will stop
I was 17, reaching out an ink donor
couldn’t find anything different
than my flickering shadow
plunging into the night
before the day was over

I used to chase thunderstorms
like kites breaking out their sky
always running at breakneck speed
on the slope of my anxiety
every time falling onto a night
arriving too early, disintegrating the light
leaving me electrocuted


Aldo Quagliotti is an Italian poet living in London, UK. He's the author of Japanese Tosa (London Poetry Books), Confessions Of A Pregnant Man (AlienBuddha Press) and Incubi&Succubi (Dumpster Fire Press)

His poems have been rewarded in Italy, Brazil, USA, Canada, Ireland and in the United Kingdom. He has been selected for important anthologies such as Paper therapy, Yawp!, The Essential anthology, Murmurations, Poetical Word, Poetry in the Time of Coronavirus. Several webzines and magazines have published his work, such as INNSÆI, U-rights, Credo espoir, Parouisia , Poetica Review and many more. He has been chosen to represent the Poetry Corner at the London Chelsea + Kesington Art Week. 2020,2021 and 2022 editions.


He can be reached at:

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