The place of defeat is one
of a running sheet
contiguous to itself, finally
parallel to Nothingness
(infiltrations in the walls
of the heart)
there where the solidity of solitude
the statistics of silence
of those who no longer try
opens the cup
in the corner of the afflicted
shows the marks on the crotch
on the corners of the world
there is a bar Night Hawks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem