Blue-bleached clouds are
grazing over the camp
servantwinds scrub
the night clean
time sits around
in a winter coat
among bare tree branches
warm ashes can be found lingering
in the tatters of old supermarket circulars
and I keep busy
trying to drown a live bird
in my chest
the word
keeps talking
saying it over
and over again
with fright on the face
tart-tasting
or simply strange
till all the words scattered
on the floor part
giving way
to skin
and flesh
there are times
or all the time
only I can feel it
only you people can feel it
someone inside me
someone inside you all
echoes every question
walnut-brown rattling
scurries past
well-rested walls
the proportion of gazing
to staring
shifts here
my mood becomes
a screwed-up sight
an acre of hangover
surprises me
the morning
sits down next to me
telling tall tales
Translated by: Paul Sohar