I sunk in search of Cézanne, the pickled flower who has cleaned History’s teeth. He cut up a cigarette and dipped it in tea, remembering it wasn't a cigarette, and held it with eyes as sharp as a table. But Cézanne is just a used car from 1616, And so my blank pages continued to plow a silent manicure. All I know is this: the kiss is the moon that is red, and a respectful kiss won't turn into a corkscrew.
Copyright 2023 by Angelo Colella
Angelo ‘NGE’ Colella was born in Italy where he still lives. He writes prose and poetry in Italian and English and also makes collages, asemic writing and DADA objects. Some of his works have appeared on Uut Poetry, Utsanga, The Ekphrastic Review, Il Cucchiaio nell’Orecchio, Il Mirino, Multiperso, Blogorilla, Word For/Word, Otoliths, La Morte per Acqua, and 22 Pensieri.
30 for 30 is sponsored by Potomac Review
