It’s the café and the boredom, in the semi-dark
People have a certain rank elegance
And the dirt-encrusted street with its great jar of water
Keeps my blood too fresh and truculent for work.
All these Roman fops going by, the shuffling,
The dripping waterjar and the dark café
… built for stealing people …
And the walls are full of musk, it’s baked into them.
The temptation to live! Even a bad conversation …
In a street that’s built for boredom
And odorous with water. When there’s less time
(My life, my work, my hopes!) every step leads to an assignation.
It’s the élan of café life on a hot night,”
The street that’s full of modern love-talk, like a room,
It’s the jade-breath of the waterjar … that’s mortality
For the blood that is too fresh (always) for work.