The community of poets I belong to is not as close as it used to be, if only for the fact that our lives have become busier: jobs, children, and the like.
As specialists of apparent life, stars serve as superficial objects that people can identify with in order to compensate for the fragmented productive specialisations that they actually live.
I am leaving the town to the invaders: increasingly numerous, mediocre, dirty, badly behaved, shameless tourists.

