When the night comes, here, raises the shades from the ground as it does with the homeless in the police Piazza Duomo. It is arrogant, rude, in my part of the night.
I look up to heaven and aseptic as gray for weeks. I wonder if I still believe in the stars.
The station is a clump of souls. The few bodies have to pass the eyes of those who have lost many years ago. Someone passed me, touch me just enough to pour into its emptiness. I must seem strange that container! I take the first train for Genoa. How long I do not watch the sea!?
I look up to heaven and aseptic as gray for weeks. I wonder if I still believe in the stars.
The station is a clump of souls. The few bodies have to pass the eyes of those who have lost many years ago. Someone passed me, touch me just enough to pour into its emptiness. I must seem strange that container! I take the first train for Genoa. How long I do not watch the sea!?
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