Not a day passes without you thinking
How they've walled you too out of the world.
They've taken your perspective. Banished you.
...
When you close your eyes you see a poem.
It is emptied of the firmness of all things you secretly desire.
It reminds you of a white room freshly painted
Where summer forgot to close the windows and doors.
...
Even now you peddle the story of the Turks
At the gates of Vienna, dismantling their tents only as a ruse.
And how masquerading as kebab vendors
...
Silent eruptions of ions. Energy suspended in signs.
Antigravity. Magnetism's dance in bone swellings.
Protuberances.
...
No one hears what the stone holds in.
Insignificant, all its own, an affliction
Caught between the foot's sole and the shoe.
...
When you kill it at the edge of the pan, you don't notice
That the egg grows an eye in death.
It is so small, it doesn't satisfy
Even the most modest morning appetite.
...
You have remained empty-handed and you have a walnut in your hands.
At first you squeeze it and hide it like some magic,
But then everything squeezes you and you know that you must
...
There's only five minutes left to you
Before I put out the lights.
Because the poem for which you waited all day
Isn't there, simply enumerate what is.
...
Mintafiction, minthane, mintabolism.
There the smell of mint grows out of bone,
Out of a neighbor's thumb and a stranger's shin.
No animal could do it, it's not worth repeating.
...
Who speaks when you are not speaking in your own name?
When you do not pretend to speak in the name of another,
But there is the presence of a voice like the ghost's at a séance?
Just retro larifari, cadabra abra, aha, aha, blah blah?
...