Saturday, October 20, 2012

Special Feature - Ray Santos

‘Le Amore Es Un Cane Che Viene Del Inferno’

She said I reminded her of Bukowski
I took that as a compliment
But later on I thought about it
She might have just meant I looked old
And jaded
Rough around the edges
Worn down and down and out
I took it as a compliment anyway

Maybe it was because we had just had sex
And were laying in bed naked
And she read me “Love is a Dog From Hell”
in Italian while we lay there
It sounded even better in her language
In that sweet voice of hers like music
She said she liked sex at night and in the morning
At night to help her sleep
In the morning to start her day off right


She bought the book by Bukowski
after a bad break up
And she was mad with love
She was looking for something to help her cope
When she saw the title she knew that was the book
It was in Italian with the English translations side by side
So she taught herself English by reading Bukowski
If you really want to learn a language, she said
You have to first learn the curse words.

She loves chaos
She told me, it draws her
Like a moth to the flame
So naturally this is her city

I always attract the mad ones
I told her as she laughed
And fell asleep in my arms
in that hot sweaty night



In the old historic part of town
most of the flats have no AC
so you have to leave the windows open at night
So in Naples, when you fuck, the whole block fucks with you.

We had pizza and drank Belgian beer
We held hands
I put my arm around her
We kissed in public
In front of all those Italians
And sun burnt tourists
In front of the facades of churches and palaces
Hundreds of feet high
Hundreds of years old
Facades that saw kings crowned
and later sent to the guillotine
without ever flinching
or giving a rat’s ass either way
and neither did we



Our love could be eternal
can withstand anything
just like those buildings
we thought as we went back to her flat
and fucked one last time

I felt like I could stay there forever
With her in those sweaty sheets
In her city and its dirty streets
But it was time to move on
so I caught the first train
out of town the next morning
and just let it be.







Ray Santos is a man of few words. Usually about 2000 to 3000 to be exact. He is currently working on two short story collections about his hometown of Hialeah, Florida and his travels in Europe. His poems and short stories have appeared in such distinguished online publications as Hobo Pancakes and EWR Short Stories.

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