Existence is a circle hunt
the circle is the great metaphor
from the circles we come
from the big spheres
and the big bang is a circle
it is the circle reduced to the ultimate essence
I was young and I did not know what I was doing
when I handled the circle on the street
with a suitably crafted wire
or with a stick
I thought I was playing
as a spell of life
the circle actually was playing me
me a pagan priest
with a pure soul and ancestors
a ritual then meaningless
I was not allowed to understand
now I see but not everything
caught in the middle of the maze of their intercessions
happy because in the middle
all geometries end in a circle
as the eye gives a round sigh
called by the abyss
when my body is troubled by the circle
you will not believe it until you read in the evening
alone
the caress of the broken tear.
Enough you think
too many tears in a circle
you should not be where you are
but the circle is infinite
it is not known how many tears there are in laughter
or how much laughter
turned into the tears.
Look at the big beautiful, hungry mouth of the circle
throwing astral flashes to your blood
like watched by the snake
like that statue of marble, salt,
clay, smoldering steam
oh, sweet tooth of death
when it penetrated you but you did not die
From time to time a prolonged twinge
sad and heavy
my wing with which I defend myself from death and
the feather I throw after