Altamura (Apulia, Italy) by Dauno Settantatre
Dark are the streets
By which they creep.
Silence is their goal.
Through the town, they go.
Bodies left behind,
Blood-dry we will find.
Church bells are tolling,
And heads are rolling.
Flee from this we must
Before we are dust.
THE DEAD GAME
I walk alone.
In dead silence.
The wind flees.
The moon hides.
Man stays clear.
I walk alone.
Death is my companion.
Fear is my weapon.
Hell is my home.
I walk alone.
THE DEAD GAME
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“Institute Benjamenta” (1995)
Has he come for me?
I hear his footsteps.
The leaves stop rustling.
The wind stops blowing.
The silence is overpowering.
A stranglehold on my nerves.
Is he standing outside the door?
Waiting for me to open it.
I won’t.
I won’t let him in.
He wants me.
I refuse to become one of them.
THE DEAD GAME
The island calls to me.
It whispers my name.
The bridge sighs.
It weeps for me.
I walk across.
It wobbles to and fro.
I hold tight to the ropes.
One step gives way.
And so does the next.
The sides unravel.
I can’t move.
Time stands still.
I’m falling.
Cold water hits my face.
Silence now takes it turn.
Silence reigns supreme.
The sun hides its face.
Palm trees shake their leaves.
Winds pick up their pace.
Hotel stands deserted.
Flapping sounds fill the air.
Dark shadows join the fray
Beneath his icy stare.
THE DEAD GAME
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Waves crashing.
Fins stalking.
Birds crying.
Sun glaring.
Head sinking.
Darkness approaching.
A soothing quiet.
A wet blackness.
A quiet void.
Beneath it all.
“Institute Benjamenta” (1995) dir. Timothy Quay, Stephen Quay
Has he come for me?
I hear his footsteps.
Walking up the steps.
The leaves stop rustling.
The wind stops blowing.
The silence is overpowering.
Is he standing outside the door,
Waiting for me to open it?
I won’t.
I won’t let him in.
He wants me.
I won’t become one of The Dead.
THE DEAD GAME
It comes in the night.
It comes to all.
To all who sleep.
To all who lie awake.
It comes on soft wings.
It comes in silence.
I lie and wait.
In trepidation.
In fear.
For it.
