who would have expected Florence or Genoa
to be so strewn with plastic bottles and garbage

for coffee or a hamburger

to ripen, to gather, to crush
and then ferment and season

from udders and orbs to buckets
and over time

in arched cellars of cheeses
or barrels and bottles

cranes or lizards
goldfish chasing ferns
fires of the heart, mangled

of the thousands
once traded and sold


That’s what Woodpecker said.


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