The rubber bullets of night have ceased their thrumming against the window
Dreams that wanted to run riot, dispersed to the outskirts of the city
Christ of the Abyss underwater in the Genoese harbor, but not you, not in Orlando
The two cities turning on the axis of old and new prayers
Where you write in skeins of rust, eyes heavy as iron poor blood
All that the Guardia and mall cops have have left to you for the Night Watch
The passwords dissolving in ink and wine
qbit 
Nice!
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One of your best! And an honor. Thank you, sir!
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Read, and read again. Excellent piece.
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Oh, MY:
“Where you write in skeins of rust”
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Thank you!
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