The collision

Eventually I tried to call you, but the phone was dead
the receiver reeked of formalin, I unscrewed the microphone’s cover
and I found the rusted metal, full of worms;
I looked for the screwdriver
and I opened case: on the stranded wire of the coil
spiders had secured their web.
on the interlacing chord, now rotten, its rubber crumbly and its wire tattered
ants deposited their smell; I grabbed it, and jerked it until the thumbtacks let go and the plaster
as well, 
 
I pulled at it until I began to bring closer, 
yard by yard your neighbourhood and mine
crushing the drugstores, the sweet-shops, bursting the sewerage pipes,
overlapping the asphalts, pressing together so many stars on the violet, dusk sky in between the
houses that only an edge of scintillating light remained above
throbbing in the burnt air, as if by lightning. 
I pulled at the chord, and like an Indian saint on a trapeze above the waters
the statue of C.A Rosseti slid towards the police station
and the civic centre of the Second borough 
smashed against the Fire Tower and it san, a wedding party as well
and the Latin Street smiled,; I pulled at the chord, twisting it round my arm and suddenly,
your house with its white and pink trunks like a cake made of lime
brought it’s window to my window
the window panes loudly burst
and we were face to face
and we came closer more and more
until we embraced , crushing our lips
pulverising our clothes , our skin, blending our heart
eating our eyelids, the enamel of our eyes, our ribs, our blood
shredding our spines, burning.

we burnt cracking, like sprayed with petrol
burning in blue ices, with smoke stalactites
with sizzling wax, with blinding tallow
until the ash filled the drawers and the bathroom sink
and the spiders build their webs in our chest.