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