looking up between the ruins

for stars

swirling from the wine

 

 

even in the heat

i can feel the chill

from the concrete

enough to kill

some nameless salt-mine bastard

come winter

 

Layers of lives

most as discrete from one another

as they are from us

serene

 

to be like the vandal

unconcerned with propriety

to  break off something

appropriate the past

to try and enter it

 

hiss of tires from the via dei fori

white noise

indistinguishable

from my  voice