Artchil Daug

To the untrained eye
an empty space is just like that,
empty,
the first reaction, there is nothing
poetic about the space
between thoughts and symbols,
a black hole that stares back,
depth found in two dimensions,
the second reaction, the hollow
lamentations of billions
who died in the clash of translations,
the stench of blood in the hands
of preachers, rumor mongers, war merchants
in silence, a space for every failure
at capturing the essence of life,
the third reaction, there is confusion,
deconstruction, tearing down,
images remain images,
no signification,
the definition of a man blowing up
and Bukoswki must un-text it
like this: