English

 

 THE WIFE OF THE POLICE OFFICER KILLED IN THE LINE OF DUTY

 

Thousands of years have elapsed, and we still worry about Penelope

Who, to tell the truth, was waiting for the inventor of the ‘Trojan Horse’

That fatal weapon

Again other thousands of years will pass by

With people worrying about that woman of glamour

Yet the wife of the murdered policeman expects to go through the wonder of affection lasting three days only

This woman of no glamour covering in black darkness

Belonging to the night and not at all to her

Words struggle to walk out but fall

Into the whirling hole that pierces this world through

Moss

In the moist of the murdered police wife’s tears

Moss and not wet touchwood

What kind of living things might there be in the moss?

I mean the moss of the endless wound?

What kinds of organisms are being born in the moss?

I mean the organisms flying around, appearing and disappearing, appearing and disappearing

I am not sinning with what I see and my eyes borrow

I stay even hidden in the rooms of implications

Yes, I am certain

Yes, I am certain

That this each of us is growing smaller than ever before

In this accompanying ironic procession so similar

To the tube in the stomach, with the intestines inside and outside the abdomen

Why is this procession growing smaller?

In it each of us diminishing

Is there a limit to metamorphosis?

For, ah,

Oh, for

The moist of the murdered police wife’s tears

Contains the same cells

The same particles of breaths together and separately

Created this living reality

This round world itself

Consisting of infinite particles of breaths

Particles of breaths, breaths of particles, moving as you like it

Not due to the habit of words

But due to Emanuel Kant, this climber climbing

The bottle of gnosology

Catching at

And holding firmly on the sacred

 

 

PUT THE EARTHLY GLOBE IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES

 

Brahmagupta from India was the first to define

ZERO as a number

ZERO is the iron atom of Manneken Pis

And every other atom contains ZERO

ZERO is the dew drop and the fire burning inside it

ZERO is my earlap, my winking eye, my pupil

ZERO hangs on the male’s and the female’s neck

Besides, ZERO is their tight bodily embrace

ZERO is the mouth emptied of words, the tip of the writing pen

ZERO is the enwombed baby before birth

Besides, ZERO is the hunched old man before death

Flaming and extinguished ZEROS pass through the seven-skied week

ZERO is the earthly globe

Now, at the end, I am mentioning the earthly globe

To summon you, men, to place it in front of your eyes

The breaths of the dirt increase

Unceasingly, they do increase