I’m poleaxed by sleeping
So tired that I’m weeping
Stuck here in these stones
I won’t be escaping
Through my nostrils a thought
Presses close to my brain
It fades as it’s brought
To the hem of my dream
What’s my game in the earth?
With sliced earthworms speaking
As if they had worth
Like all things’ Deep-Being
Dawn clatters, and upward
The sun is my driver
I cling to my thought
Not never nor neither
Robert Schindel (born 1944) Austria
Translated by Timothy Adès
Source: The High Window
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