Poetry

No, the Nightingale of Dawn, No, Of Course, Yes!   how it trills on an old pulpit in bushes on the Hill of Brides how it trills – O horror – as if admiring the moon in dead Roman ruins admiring it so hopefully with its paleness still able to arouse admiration – arousing eternal […]

Logograph of animals in space Albert II, the rhesus monkey died. Three mice died. Fourteen mice aboard the rocket Jupiter also died. The fruit flies survived. The monkey Gordo died. The monkey Yorick came back. The monkeys Able and Baker returned, but died under surgery. Two dogs and the rabbit Marfusa returned. The dogs Tsygan

Spring   such an intense thaw waters with such deep teeth they even gnawed through graves and having palms so strong they lifted coffins out of the earth and crushed them releasing the recently buried into the city’s rivers dozens of calm, majestic corpses began to swim through the streams like gondolas turning into side-streets

*** Look at those clouds, look – their heaviness, weighing on the horizon. Well, all that marble! Huh, and basalt! Well, and granite too! It’s not heavenly, you say? But heroic for all that, yes, my child, heroic. And no chagrin d’amour for you here, no, no cante jondo either. *** Summer now, and the sweet milk of June

golden fleece, fur, an apple and us Run, comrade, the old world is behind you! we walk with churches at our backs we look for a fitting street in which to drink up the leftover night we look for a fitting street in which to scream out our leftover light we are busted mufflers, yes,