In the past I said:

My life passed like toothache.

Now I say:

You,

standing between two burnt trees,

have to establish your believes.

You have to establish your believes.

What has changed?

May be my unemployment.

May be the force of darkness.

May be the old tongue falls from piles of books so that my hand and waist tremble.

But I have tried.

Many before you have tried but didn’t find the resurrection but in the book of jurisprudence.

As for me,

I’ve found the grand flock mounts the hill with its chains.

I’ve found the bones (your bones) wrapped in newspaper and thrown from the window.

I’ve found the teeth (teeth of the fork) inserted deeply in the neck of the asleep.

I’ve found (him) between two burnt trees swaying under the yoke of his hard obsessions.

What has changed?

My eloquence drags itself pigmented with plague.

My eloquence; my sponge, sucks my desire to weep.

And this compass,

it conveys, since the day before yesterday, my gasp to you.

So don’t believe.

This is the repertoire of man, withdrawn within himself.

Smashes, with his stammering, the center of gods.

Ruins the passage of fractured birds.

Ruins.

And ruins.

Everything we have is organized in accordance with the mechanism of ruin.

What was a discovery, a philosophy, a doubtless certainty,

it is now a bucket full with holes.

Or,

a shaky rotten tooth.