Squared angles hanging from the ceiling, formed from
equations upon a blueprint, denoting structures of
some sort.
Delving into the interior of their depths, finding
them empty with an atmosphere of indecision, not
knowing what they are supposed to be doing.
Locating centers where they were formed, but now
there are no more reasons for their even being on
this earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem