if I follow something on the street: an ice cube footprints
mushrooms shoot like pistols out of the ground
a waitress lies buried in bed she says
it's always insomnia or crying with happiness

but she'll have to hurry
at any moment now she might
be impaled by a big black man
respect for the poor

you can tell by the clothes they wear nothing fits
the ferries to Lampedusa are full
but the people nowadays want to sink
anything in the majority themselves
let the gold rust eternally in the shop window

so we remain silent if god wishes
he impregnates the air
with melted icing sugar

disguises

I keep getting in and out of them
until my arms crack

Translation: Michele Hutchinson