as above

Year after year they celebrate the death of the Sun,
but here in the mountains people behave like wine corks
and sleep with the doors ajar. They are beautiful.
Antique turntables, hairdresser sinks, gadgets
that can help to avoid your friends and relatives
in the hereafter are sold by the roadside.
No, I don’t get it. The monks dive into the lakes
with their heads left on the shores talking
of the advantages of Martian IP addresses.
Alas, I forgot my swimming trunks in Venice.

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