Vyhľadávanie
WHAT REMAINS
is the tongue, the living meat.
Gnostic disputes with flowers,
circles on the surface,
thresholds
being nailed down.
We hold onto the hands
of the dead,
who will survive us.
local culture: stifling nostalgia
you no longer even ask
who is persecuting
whom
enough to look beyond the horizon
to see clay
in a shepherd’s hair
motif of the cross
outlined
by a tree somewhere
a train
as product
of divine impartiality
andante
and
in coffee: the future: a dissolving
sugar cube
infernus: memory of mine, mirror
of my visions...
you smile, mitschuldig, but that helps
only those who require
explanations; prepare for the worst,
the corpus hermeticum’s at stake, the finger
complains of the splinter, the blind man
of darkness:
the winepress ignores the grape,
but metaphor is at work.
poets lie
i lie too (as if
I were a poet)
from madame blavatsky’s
book of dzyan
to the cantos
of monsieur pound
mystery assaults
the capacity to grasp it
water is for drinking
but also for swimming
air is for breathing
but also for flying
the one who is drowning
breathes water
the one who is falling
drinks air
he that doesn’t fit in
is already crossed out
forgive him
forgive me
spring nonhaiku
dandelion from eve
seventeen gone
i wait till it matures
for the wind
(no need to blow)
autumn nonhaiku
beer from alena
thirty and four
i wait till the froth
settles
(no need to blow)
fear of planning
how slowly it heals
my
i won’t be
goods: relationships
evening attack from parallel
worlds:
the shop
where today i met
my dead schoolmate
evidently had
nothing else to attract me
supply exceeded demand
as everywhere
talc, chalk, impression
in the queue is gymnastics, ventilators for asthmatics, catalogisation of insurance events, loveletter browsing, speeches and articles, gaping into the abyss of the internet, the certified oranges of hieronymus bosch, night licked by a child’s tongue, window with presentiment of rain wide open, overrunning the draught while headed for paling darkness, centrum securitatis, verbal misdemeanours caught from the street, pandemic of powerlessness, speed of diffusion measureable in knots, let’s be careful with irony
Translated by John Minahane
