And unto the angel of the church
of the Laodicea write…
Revelation (3: 14)
Your sun is dying
in a cunning agnosticism.
In the pure Logos,
in all-lingual odes
squirm all − ists and − isms.
When a blind man leads another…
Eye diseases are not a seldom thrut.
Reaching for the gold coin
the half-naked lady
falls into a trap,
then walks upon the icy floor…
Ah, Laodicea, Laodicea!
... they both fall into a hole.
It is shameful, o “pure” bride,
always to caress the same.
Its mouth will vomit over you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem