Nº 147 - No high speed manifestos,
no more car crash poems,
but at Marinetti's grave
the sound of distant traffic
is keeping the poet awake.
Nº 134 - Last night I watched the river undress.
First it removed its shirt, second it took off its trousers
then, embarrassed, it swam away
Nº 132 - And if she asks where I've gone
tell her I am cleaning the meat from my bones
and won't be back until they're stripped and scoured.
Nº 131 - "I have pigeons nesting in my hair,
wood lice crawling out of my ears,
mice gnawing at my feet,
there is no room for you my love."
Nº 130 - The city blisters in the screaming heat.
Young men hunt in packs and everywhere the sound of barking,
the endless barking of sheep.
Nº 129 - This morning my father turned into a seagull.
We knew it was him as soon as he opened his beak
and refused to get down off the roof