Friday, October 14, 2005


- How is your dog?
- Fine, thank you.
In half a year I put it to sleep. Brain cancer it was.
- How is your poetry?
- Well, thanks – howling. A deep well inside a brick wall.
A kind of atoll, of that coral ring
You got for your canine teeth/cancel.
Thanks, they are well, my Poe and my tree (mulberry),
My Inkwell and my Pendulum.
Not a death sentence written in half a year.
My Pen is dull, my Pun is a Dell, i.e. hollow.
Writing in English, it’s worse than not writing at all.
You could question me more.
You have such an influence.
Why not ask me about my God, my life, my love?
I would answer you candidly. They also need an end.

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