Non Est . . .
Nothing more to say, Catullus,
you have walked away
from the green room
" " dark room
You have turned your head
from the clam beds
Catullus!
You must be hiding!
I do not know the address
of your villa
I do not know the fiddlers, the caterers
or those space girls
who sang of those women
(now they’re wringing their hands)
I am a visitor who reads magazines
in one language
