where I come from my dear traveler
it’s the stage
of a vineyard form of amphitheater
dug by my father among the others when
he was still
in his vital states of mind
when he was drunkenly adorable
beyond mountains and forests
beyond those noctambulist draculities
and argues on the nationality
of dear mother of God
where I come from there are people not landscapes
of plastic with mannequins
nor freaky castles with touristic news
it’s me and you and all who still believe
in that dubious rest of humanity
where I come from the single life insurance
that makes us true is the bread
and the salt of the land
it’s everything that keeps us free
and madly together
from there I mounted on my eyes
a kind of wasting
and alcohol of vanity
because the vineyard is gone for good
and above all even above my dad
the forest is growing high
thus my joy is a kind of dream on the edge
kind of resentment
and tears swallowed again and again
by the rage