the hundred men
dig out stones
for eleven hours –,
and fill great ships
and foreign stock-holders,
for whom they don’t give a shit –
(eleven hours – )
and the hundred men
pour champagne
into souls,
which the city of longing
ought to fear,
and couldn’t fill
two years ago –
and the hundred men
travel home
(after two or three years )
with longing
heavy as piles of stones
and unpredictable like icebergs –
and the hundred men
sail back and forth
(as long as they can )
with their mysterious souls,
which they can’t
give a shit –