Casa Robino

 through endless religions,there's so many things we try to do truthfully,(i) on the way back, I pass a box. A wine keg. Two of them, in fact. I kick one. It hurts. I kick the other one. It hurts too. I pull open the tap and press it into my hand. Grapes upon my lips! I carry them both, ten litres, across the city on my bike. My finger, split open by a broken beer bottle earlier, begins to bleed and me, cycling so slow, leaves a trail of blood thru central amsterdam. The boxes both split, and I take the bags. I imagine them as my own guts and can't let them fall. The cold gnaws at my blood and that which drips and I leave behind me sings, or kind of, and the bags wave back and forth, sometimes pushing me to veer almost into the canals.(ii) I learnt how to make rice milk today.I couldn't stop grinning and grinning. Grinning and grinning and grinning.(iii) the other night, I decided to live at the bottom of a canal, here.I haven't got diving equipment yet, so that will have to wait. anyway, it's difficult to make rice milk down there.