'Never satiated' (published in Big Red Cat Issue #2)

published
Scream if you need to go faster, if that's your desire, say the old adage: the customer is always right, is king, and so survey their subjects with dispassionate eyes, demanding. I order some nibbles and remain at the bar with every fibre, despondently slotting them in like a 10p machine rigged against us, until the bowl is clean. The light dims and kitchen closes so I settle and slip home. Never satiated with another bite, another course; a cigarette with the ash hanging on. Drag this skinny fry through that mayo and swallow whole. I feel like an eclair slammed in a car door, dairy on passenger seat, on headrests, which detach if you were sinking as weapons with which to smash through a window and escape. I keep one to hand now. The rest is articulated elsewhere, not in words but senseless consonants clattering in gibberish. I have no business to settle with you. The conversation ends, and here you are: playing chess as both colours to win.
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The Storm, an episodic poem

published

"Ripping through the abyss."

Recollections of the day that The Storm descended, as told in four chapters


The Storm


I - The Calm


Can you recall a time without sun?

The endlessness of these days,

that flood of gold upon your face, my eyes.

Skies perpetual and still,

impartial to all those swimming through

that high, infinite ocean, this beautiful afternoon.


From what doubt could I ever truly run?

Hearing a dull crack among distant new haze –

azure misconceptions shed pretence, disguise,

as ink across untouched blue does spill.

Bear witness to this fresh, unwelcome stew

of serenity sacrificed too soon.


II - The Eye of the Storm


Clouds tumble across the sky

until the memory of unblemished ceiling

seems imagined, unreal.

There's something wrong, something amiss.

It looms above, festering – in anguish, in pain.

Waiting... silent only for a slight intake of breath.


It ruptures, unleashing a revolting cry.

Tearing out the pin, and injecting this sinister feeling

which always seemed, to me, impossible to feel.

Ripping through the abyss.

Thrashing all below with vicious, viscous rain.

Berating the land with daggers of light. Serenity's death.


III - Trouble Overhead


Blankets over our heads,

wrapped tight to close us in,

keeping us safe from the next boom

(still feeling tremors from the last).

True fear; unrealised.

We hold our shallow breath.


It is not only I who dreads

the storm above and within.

We find sanctuary in my room

until the morning thunder has passed.

Half-paralysed,

Half-frightened to death…


IV - Afterthoughts


Picking up the pieces of our broken past.

The fractured clouds wipe their mouths, reform;

unburdened, and filled with unfamiliar levity.

The sodden land lies below, in a post-traumatic shock –

distressed, but finally relieved

from torment; numbed under the thick skin of resistance.


The storm has finally passed.

The sky is restored to its dull, blue, usual form.

It's impossible to fathom this event's true brevity;

a bare few ticks on the eternity clock.

There's a new, subdued tranquility – not to be believed

as I can see black clouds lingering in the distance.


— Giuliano Piacentini © 2022




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