E 'Mitropa
a train coming in, puffing and boastful,
the center of my memory forgetting
the same rust of a teenage
Lokomotiv Leipzig or a Carl Zeiss Jena
teams shine in a boy of Iperuranio
much more than in contemporary official ball of smelly
L ' inspector, certainly a member of MIA
Stasi,
reassured me: they never existed then
note, that with the end INDIFFERENCE:
neither do you, in that cold
1984 when the end of the world had only two buildings
minutes
I always knew in my bed and
get the hydrogen bomb and then drop
HORIZON
's strange, at the bottom of this ravine
of memories is the multi-ethnic
noise of the train on the afternoon of Saturday, the first of the season
balances,
that welcomes Russian, Peruvian and other exiles like me
ORPHANS
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