who do you belong to?
surely not yourself - the one you think
i belong to the ink
to the addictive white space i live beneath
never mind the exertion of things
reduce yourself to the grass and ****
you've been high for so long
look down and see
you’ve lost yourself in your journey
gone too long
and evermore prolonged
this is my reality
i am your memory.

Seven generations Roman,
and one hundred percent male.

That voice, like thunder and wind over Lazio,
and a smile that could melt your kneecaps.

Surging with life, laughing, singing,
telling stories from his naughty boyhood,
here on the cobbled streets that he loved so well.

Fiercely loyal, a truer friend could never be found.

When he sang 'Vivrò!' smacking his old guitar just once,
and then roaring into song,
he did live forever, right there and then.

We live on, caro Bambù, transfused
by your vibrant, unforgettable memory.