LUISA FERIDA

She dresses so sober, the woman you see,
But the ectoplasm of an old lamé dress
Still seems to undress her back,
Offered to the looks in so many soirées.
You focus her under the wan light
Of the closed shutters of a hotel room,
But she's not going to refuse this last scene,
The final part that has already been written because...

… She’s Luisa, Luisa Ferida
The darling of Cinecittá
La Ferida, that autarkical Diva
The one her audience will deny...

She can't forget
Those days that were brighter than a hundred August's suns
Living through them without burning:
The most imperial of all hallucinations.
The rides
In her estate, the coke parties at Coppedé*,
Female Italy
Toward the future walking on her high stilettoes...

brand new script: a defamatory role
double is stealing the scene from her.
Even though she's not guilty, it doesn't matter at all:
There’s no parole for the one who got too much.
Symbol of roaring years,
There's no need for [bad word] 
One more role as a Fedele D'Amore**
Waving goodbye to the sound of a clapperboarding gun charger...

… She takes the ring off her finger
And she's already put her astrakan fur back into the [bad word] It's the only thing that she can do:
Losing everything as in baccarat!
The bank wins,
The closing credits are slowly appearing,
She puts her hand over her eyes
And she's bound to a lie that will nail her for years...

She's Luisa, Luisa Ferida
Wearing the grey-toned color of city’s rain
Stare at her while she’s still alive
You are the operator framing her...
It's your turn...
It's your turn...
It's your turn...

“Read your charge, here’s your movie
Read your charge, here’s your movie
Read your charge, here’s your movie!”

...Dismantle the set...