From the bridge, hitting the river gods
 
          from the bridge, hitting the river gods
on the head with a bottle
we have blood of barbarians in our veins
and of horse and of wild boars
we hold the empire together so we can
keep on tearing it apart
 
we have arms like swans when we spread
the newspaper open on the table
over the mess of previous diners and want
this and that and that and
our teeth broken against the marble
                                                                                                                                        
          sun that crunches under our shoes
          and the veins of oil and salt, should I
          raise my feet from the bottom and float
          throw the heavy keys away in the sand
          leave the music that keeps us going
          leave the statues that sculpted us
 
                    I spit the last olive stone, you say
                    you don’t understand
                    why I find it so hard just now
          after all the periods, ages and inventions, to go on
          there’s always more
          like a new beach, but I don’t have the faith, it’s hot
          the fishes
          twitching in the back of a motocarro
                    have found their purpose now
                    everything that makes
                    a beautiful sound
          is empty inside, on a blazing white wall
          a one-legged seagull changes feet
 
          darkness sparkles in the dessert wine
in the night, a refugee boat turns over and sinks
wind has climbed up the hills and it smells roasted
                    dancers stretch, trees crackle
                    like enormous flames