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Borghesia
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Toxido
Night is changing into day. City lights are switching off. Long,
empty streets. I walk and my infinitude is cutting me in half.
I lay down at the foot of the sky-scraper. I wish someone were here.
The tenants are coming out still dreamy, smelling like coffee.
When they se me lying, my legs spread and my eyes full of lon-
ing, they halt with wide open eyes. The coldness of concrete
freezes my bones. Maybe all is in vain. An elderly man approa-
ches, a bag in his hand, and diffidently asks: would you come
to my place. I say no, let? s do it here, so i can watch the rows
of bells and the lists tenants while you penetrate me. He lea-
ves; the coldness and humidity of the early morning give me
shudders. I pick up my rags. Nobody else comes out. My desire
for utter pain is crazy. Is it?
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