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and the words and my love would be a triumphal arch

a four hundredth of a century ago it was snowing. Not photographed sky. In Rome, no one died of love. Sinking in rivers of asphalt was no Plan B to Plan A. The specific weight of my introspection was devastating. A four hundredth of a century ago was a million years ago. The whole world was shocked by the atomic esplosini. On the face of the Earth, the oceans were gone and the plains looked like bleak deserts. a four hundredth of a century ago it was blue. Everywhere there were people who died did not die. People who died did not die. People who died did not die. And I was no exception. A four hundredth of a century ago was Friday 17, and Jason smiled at us.