A moment of wax comes about
When we are just summoned out
And, of course, we never come back again.
That’s about all of it. Then,
As we already know,
We’re beginning to flow
In milky mists through a moat
With rhomboidal dedecahedrons afloat
Helter-skelter.

Right at the centre
Is the Word: not a doubt!

With landscapes scrawled out
And barefoot girls crossing the railway line
In a direction crystalline.
Afterwards, far away,
Stealing between heat and decay
Railwaymen with a chocolate veneer
Or other sorts of of beings disappear,
Among a host of pleasurable wires,
Urged by commands and desires.
And we’re standing aloof by the wash-bowl
As we watch how they rinse up the new soul.


-translated by Florin Bican