Philosophy's a corpse
continually washed and combed
wordblind, megalithic
I prise open its eyelids
to receive the light
of the dark dog-star.
That which is written is hollow:
illegibility
of knowing,
everything repeated
an hundredfold -
we climb in
but never climb out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
we climb in but never climb out. just stand still you won't need a way out. That which is written is hollow: you the one not written, dear fellow