Every word ‘s a fragment
A piece of meat saved from careless
Furies, a commentary to a book no one typed
Or will type at all. I’m always the afraid
pupil facing his first page:
I have no thoughts.
I’m going sure to make the error
visible and risible for the teacher and the smart aleck.
Someone will save Euridices, but I’m not that
Orpheus hurt
The scrawls and blots of the basic ignorance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem