Kondos Yiannis

The slain afternoon is starting to smell.
So is summer.

An open wound is the sun
and not a word about my love.
There’s a blank in my memory.
A field, so to speak, where
the oddest things are to be found:
from empty tincans to dreams.

Otherwise I lead a normal life.
Only at times fear,
that domestic animal,
gets underfoot and creaks.

MERCURIAL TIME, The Sceptre Press, Knotting, Bedfordshire, 1978.
Taken from:  Poiein.gr

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Φρ. Νιτσε