Cancel a performance that ends someone's life
between living statues in an art gallery.
I detect water in the plume of dust created
after his departure.
The cloud is examined again
by spectrometers, the chief curator laughs,
when isolated rays of light are wetting us
from the moon's north pole.
My neighbour's s schoolboy is stained,
I am asked to crash a two-stage rocket
into the space above us
to sympathise my victim
with words that have not been misguided by loyalty,
I probe more than millions of tons of water
likely to suffer from love disorders.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem