Night in the City
Do you refuse to accept that love was here
imagining birds, unearthing ruins?
Rain, rain and music are black in these streets
crowded with crucified people that walk,
the dying that work,
unburied corpses clapping and smiling.
Perhaps there still remains in this space
of shattered dreams, mashed dreams,
another crazy dreamer repeating:
light is close, light is near.
But, as in other times, only a cold and empty
a festive, blind hustle and bustle
of these dead remains,
the perfectly dead dead.
Only a sour, metallic drop of night can be heard,
an immense black sheet of iron.