on top of the bridge
the danube’s bullpit the mosquitoes
the brown stones the currency
accumulating everything as it should be and
hair emptying into a plastic bag
outside the synagogue my arm
itchy I pray for the return of
a name this is all so super it is
also regular and I see it as a bright
pink boarder or empty glasses frames
or a nut shell this is you watching me
behave like a nut shell entirely tied up
to some familiar name stoned marble
this is you petrified stoned palpable
the nut is no longer moved by stimuli
not even purple grapes or purple light
on barmitzvahed hands the most
precise siren is silence and if you
wander through the mass names and
rub your eyes is it because you are
expressing sadness or is it because
I happen to be playing with a name
as it used to be I do feel like I’m watching
you yes I am from a bridge do me a favour
visit my family tell me their names