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Poem by by Alda Merini

Aphorisms

Psychoanalysis
always looks for the egg
in a basket
that has been lost.

I sample sin as if it were
the beginning of well-being.

I don’t like Paradise
as they probably don’t have obsessions there.

If God absolves me
he always does so
for insufficient
evidence.

Everyone is a friend of his own pathology.

When I raise a toast to madness,
I toast myself as well.

There are nights that don’t
ever happen.

Translated by Douglas Basford.

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