"THE SAD WIND / The effort is to sit without being noticed. / Everything else then comes naturally. Three sips / and the desire to think about it alone returns. / A background of distant buzzing opens up, / everything is lost, and it becomes a miracle / to have been born and to look at the glass. The work / (man alone cannot help but think about work) / becomes again the ancient destiny that it is beautiful to suffer / in order to be able to think about it. Then the eyes fix / in mid-air, painful, as if they were blind. / If this man gets up and goes home to sleep, / he looks like a blind man who has lost his way. Anyone / can pop out of a corner and beat him up. / A woman can pop out and lie down in the street, / beautiful and young, under another man, moaning / as a woman once moaned with him. / But this man does not see. He goes home to sleep / and life is nothing but a buzzing of silence. / Stripping this man, you find exhausted limbs / and brutal hair, here and there. Who would say / that in this man flow tepid veins / where life once burned? No one / would believe that once a woman caressed / that body and kissed that body, which trembles, / and wet with tears, now that the man has come home to sleep, cannot, but groans."
Created by d'Araprì