In Rebbibia Prison
(for Toni Negri)
with words like knives
in jungles for ambush of neon troops
who try and enter
this borderless expanse,
with empty spaces
filled with time
words shot like bullets or scat
at measured regiments
the priests of San Cristobal
recite from your texts
the method of last rites
Ankara harbors your brigades
and licks your flame
into the poetry of sex and guns