INNATI TRIVIIS

The words, the bridges of the sentences
are aching, the exactness
kneads the dough of the brains
the yacht of the days is rocking
but does not sink, fluctuat
nec mergitur, I have studied
Virgil and Dante
and do not know anything
Orestes weeps his muscles
I read Hirn, The Aesthetic Life
and fall asleep, the book
is the tombstone fallen
on the burial mound
of my stomach.