“Who’s it?”  “Calm down, no one is here” he said

and flies drowned in the spilled wine covering

the autumnal light with black spots. “Where are we going?”

I asked. “I lost you in a throw of the dice” he said.

      The statues waved at me, though quite inexplicably:

“how do they know?”, I asked myself and during the nights

I leaned down since I hadn’t buried my dead yet.

     My sin was that I tried to escape destiny. I refilled

the glasses, “drink, asshole” I said; then we fought on

the carpet violently and when he threw me out of

the window a faraway woman open her skylight and

covered me with her eyelids.

Soon enough the moon appeared; I had to rush, to cover all

those corpses that filled the basement; God how many

times did they kill me and as I opened the door, I saw

our long journey as if spilled on the table, “will we meet

when I’ll return?” he asked, “yes”, I said to him, “since

I’ll always live on the edge.”