Blind wall-space,

bearded by brilliances.

A dream of a cockchafer

sheds light on it.

Behind that, halftoned with lamentations,

Freud’s forehead opens up:

the tear

compacted of silence

breaks out in a proposition:


logy for the last


The pseudo-jackdaw

(cough-caw’s double)

is breakfasting.

The glottal stop is breaking

into song.


(translated from the German by Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh)