BY TH.D.TYPALDOS
English translation (from greek language) by Nikos Stabakis
I reside in a parked wagon standing on the sharp edge of a snail
My roommates a pile of human bones and a blood chestnut tree
From the holes of the walls we learn every day the news
As in our spacious squares tumble spacious ships
One’s mother is another’s mother in the dream
The other’s dream is communal boarding
The condition of peace and quiet unburied the axe of war
Brutus was justified a posteriori
Bright-pitch black jewels-straws airing their silences
Hesitatingly the immigrants approach the leaves of the Arcana
Future maladjusted
Speeches to be given
Aircraft carriers in the wax skirts of the Dardanelles
Lean their cannonades and skyrocket their stocks up high
And Louis of the fields
Loses his head
That is found and picked by a horse that speaks five languages
The tooth fairy was killed by five small frogs
And Cinderella cuts her little fingers seeing that her feet could not fit in her glass pumps
God learned he is called God
Whereas he calls himself I
God for God
I for I
The walk on the snow leaves traces of lava and fire
In a china shop red rags move
And on its window a bull huffs and crushes earthen hair
with his leg
Twenty-four hours of life for Isidore Ducasse
Twenty-four years of imprisonment for the Comte de Lautréamont
A plastic ball sucks up the stagnant waters of Palestine
Everywhere and always salt and catfishes
Do you see my fair maid?
Everywhere and always clocks wearing yellow envelopes
And hourglasses encaging time in transparent railings
In blue hands swim sirens who emerged from
tons of processed gold dust
Unprocessed hemoptysis
Shady processing
Photosynthesis sought by the pioneers of freedom
Pirates with pearl intestines which they sharpen
under drumbeats of sheered sound-runs
You will see in our asymmetric sendoffs the all-white raven
That keeps in its beak the lily of your birth
A few hours before you were born and a few hours
before you die while in the petals of satin
burns the totem of concentric memory
On the profound sides of an asphalted mole
The land proprietors lock their contracts their spring symphony
And again in our mouth erupts a misty nefariousness
A construction site of homeless people and a funeral of desires
Algebraic equation by way of the diameter of a geometrical set
Our garments are made of a dewdrop’s eggs
September comes late to the blurry vault
But when the rain comes it demolishes the images
Images which choose to become concrete in sequence
First image: a girl I kissed on the lips
In a few seconds she was transformed into a Goliath who beat me with an axe
Then the axe became a sunset wherein my aura swam
and on its edges my contiguous babies burned
Second image: the whaleboats that become marbles in the air
Open corridors for pregnant seals to walk through
On and around a witch’s infiltrations
Pages of some rigid book are dueling
Third image: the eggs of a firefly
Whence a lamppost hatches and slowly liquefies
and becomes a river confined by its shores
Yet my own revolution is not a river
with its predetermined momentum
It is a sea in permanent turmoil
Whose next victim no one can guess
Fourth image: the devil’s sprout that remains the same for all eternity!