Kristyan Panzica




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                   SEMPRE LA ROSA MISTICA
                   SANTA VIRGINE
                         MADRE SENZA CULPA
                         REFUGIO DEI PECCATORI
                   REGINA DEI PECCATORI
                         MADRE DEL SALVADOR
                         DEL FIGLIO SENZA CULPA
                   EVVIVA SANTA MARIA Y JESÚ
    seering aura hymns of earth enfranchised by sun
    over dark igneous convolutions seven-fold
    sea family as harmonious animus of composite goddess
    inverted Vedic fruit tree branches
    through Tyrrhenian blueness to gray slopes
    terraced for ancient wheat
    Bacchus harranguing Priapus
    distilling god-ridden dreams
    Sophacles' plays survive pantheistic empires
    in Sicilian tyrant fury
    reign of Dionysos
    intrepid Taormina amphatheater stones
    giving way to Roman red-brick barricades between man and nature
    mere echo of Caesars' law transported north over Vie  Apie
    escape of seven islands between Trinacrian and Etruscan shores
    embedded in local lingo communion
    between Saracen and Norman towers
    united in casual eruptions
    beauty emerging from rage
    Sirens riding Sahara-born winds
    brilliant September afternoon unregistered
    Valviamare hydrofoil diverted from Capri to Cefalú   to Lípari
    where Lacrima Christe del Vesuvio spills
    in the Marina Corta cafe
    from anonymous civilized season
    to furrow-bred heiress limping
    from underrated hotel
    eyes for both pedigree and rough trade
    value one to five star
    obsidion-phallus frankness
    Figlie di Madonna terazza visage Vogue cover compliant
    though half a planet from sleek Navajo-NezPerse smile
    abandoned by the Danish maidens
    as they swim out of the Piscina de Venere
    enter the regal salt water pool brocaded by patrician toes
    chapters in Camelleri tales and Sciascia exposés:
    internecine partimony and Our Ladies of Perpetual Intrigue  
    spell broken by the shrill chirping of a cell phone
    the virtual messiah has accessed the cool feline spa glitter
    and the jazz ballads issuing from speakers in the ballustrades
    better almond necátole and pistachio mimosa:
    pastries taken with cappuchinos
    beside Diana's volcano-cone breasts
    piercing sulfurous warlock lips thin as sardine net cord
    scent of lemon and jasmine
    inspire mother and daughter enterprises
    inns and bungled assasinations
    pilgrimages and silhouettes
    banter of fishermen



A light year past the debt

Eaten one midsummer

Beside dusty attic windows,

She discourages the meadow

Where a lark sings sunshine,

Where curdling frosts drive dreamers

From Cascade-slope orchards.

All phrases bathed in iridium oases

Where her sacramental sutras

Flower in zigzagging streams.



Clarinetist Marshall Royal's solo was leaping

from the radio

of a Chevy Malibu climbing

from the Death Valley oven

on Route 127 East.

Within ten miles of Beatty, Nevada,

pony-sized quadrupeds loomed in the oncoming lane

and in all but a foot of the horror-gripped driver's

plus the two more feet of dirt shoulder

he'd been forced into

by the nearest languid equine innocence.

Though the unfazed interlopers one'd be loathe to batter

and the steel box over V-8 engine and wheels were intact,

the local Christian Network had usurped his jazz.

In town,

the only folks he saw were two whiskered drifters -

there not to console him,

there simply to take up the two-man bench

in front of the mobile home facing a Casino.

The trembling traveler entered amid the roar of slot machines,

sat in the cafe,

and sighed, "A Bud, thank you."

The waitress had returned

and he'd confided through to a wheezed in, "Why me?"

She explained,

"Them wild burros've been around since the mining days.

You're lucky you're not dead or covered with guts

like the gent on the motorcycle

who drove straight through one-a them critters."