Then they said, those brains of mine:
this particular article we don't understand.
Is it in a language we don't know?
No, it isn't in a language we don't know.
Is it on a subject we know nothing about?
No, we know a lot about the subject and find it interesting.
Why is it then as if the hutches of words
are empty?
In ditches and holes the connections wait
until the magazine closes itself. Put on my glasses,
to be on the safe side startles the pigeons.
Because the intelligible sentence doesn't move,
rather, the unintelligible sentence moves.
We took you to heaven, now go figure it out for yourself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem