A lonely owl, flies into the night, and calling
to a ship, flowing backwards, the river, and sheets of rain falling
in the eternal silence of these infinite spaces, frightening
the quietly chained individuals deep in their earth, and lightning
illuminates the abyss, splitting itself into two
through the singular authored and perfectly crafted town
whose fair individuals are not born, but rather become
each aware that its hell is out there with the other persons.
They hear the grey lady with luminous speech who consoles;
condemned to the flames are the nothings of life, but behold…
there is nothing outside, no nothing outside of the text
these black cows are invisible, marked with the darkness and blessed
thus, not to emerge from the earth, with the blood and the dirt…
how much of a human does one have to be to be hurt?
The spring of which they fondly dreamed never comes
again – for there is but one spring in life.
The storm is not thawed by the gentle wind from the sea
but deepens slowly, into arctic night.