Non sequitur Poem by Michael Speier
Non sequitur
maybe the wind maybe nothing at all
in the deep wicker chairs
of this star
we've now arrived
where the waste started up
as though it had only been waiting
born into that antique sect
of wiped-out countenances
we'll hold out for sure
(retreat into patience and smashed-up crypts)
like long-legged flies
made of gold
Translated by Richard Dove
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5/10/2024 10:50:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
