' this poem is entirely
a work of fiction,
the meanings of the words
used herein are the work
of your imagination.'
Days have come to resemble mirrors,
indolent and inattentive
in all their emptinesses;
mimicking one another
mimicking one another
in endless, artless, obsessive absences;
bereft of any thing to show
except each other each other,
staring vacantly back at days
emptied long ago of their residual meaning,
stripped of the possibility of action,
robbed of the silent
lip-read words
the mirrors have come
to refuse to reflect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem