translated by Lena Kallergi

I see the one who gnaws his days with his teeth
old jar, leaning a neck full of longing on a double-barreled gun
a rabble of infections of the hypoglossal vision
the alloy of iron in the white bones
and that slim war cry at the edge of the gaze
that blade, cutting the day in two
so many spots nesting in the armpits
like the hot eggs of a saturated morning.

I sprawled on barren land
knowing I have no future in this place
                              of arrogant shrubs
so as to make my back comfortable
the proper body posture under the secluded sun
to stretch my limbs as far as they can reach
                                for this to be my plot of land
I must answer to the urban planning committee
but what should I declare
how can I say that I don’t have the right to add a drop of chlorophyll
not even to two square meters of embittered earth.

      Minus Sixteen, Melani Publications, 2016