IN THE SNARE OF THE NOSTRILS
Dawn is a woman
who breaks your windows with her breasts
– reddened are the nipples
suckled on by tramps . . .
And there goes the tocsin for the hunt . . .
(Damned be Vlachka and her Teleorman!)
Prepare the drop, the raid!
The oubliette for the guests!
Set your snares!
Spatter your face with blood,
as if African masks from the sleepless nights
were flowing from your arteries!
Trap the red foxes in the snare of your nostrils!
But above all
prepare the drop, the raid.
Even if nobody comes.
Dawn – when solitude
seems to you like a brain curdled on the walls.
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