I am from a golden coast,
an opera house of mammoth white sails
and salt for air.
I am from a lush green land
of soiled famine, exiled religions and northern Troubles
boiling in burning peat.
I am from bustling streets,
men in suits pass men in cardboard between
urine soaked, graffitied concrete.
I am from narrow canals,
hustling gondolas and homeless pigeons
squawking for a bite to eat.
I am from the center,
from the crumbling youth of everywhere:
a desolate town of dust and cattle,
a five-shop city of broken words.
I am from the world.