Every man (maybe everyman)
when there were neither then
nor where
only their own ideas
(and) minus time
remained inhuman
grime
on the world’s just dead floor
w/there I don’t exist any more
without time perhaps fragments
parts of us
on the conveyor belt
automatically start made up
history (of neccessary self-industry)
for its sake, (f) or the potential
for what
might be
other
(out of) nothing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem