we use dead languages
helpless we walk along the retorts of astrolabes and
skulls
from the heights of ramparts we listen
to the clanging of St. Nicolas we listen
on pavement to the eloquent rhetorician Cicero filthy with chalk
during medical lessons we peep into the eyes of
dead people
we hide tobacco and sleazy sketches in our pockets
in the morning we obediently follow chaplain
we fling little philosophical stones into cats
at noon the wittiest syllogisms and formulas
run away from us because
on the other side of the steep damp wall
a mellifluous maid of assistant mayor
hangs up just laundered
wet dripping
underwear