A simple landscape when thoughts are like smoke
The languid minutes drift across from boring
objects to some other boring
objects. A day of transition, when
there’s absolutely nothing going on.
A pause between yesterday’s ringing of the bells,
and tomorrow’s who knows what of what.
Silence pervades the empty room, a lazy
cigarette and some failed smoke rings, blown
through the nose today for a change.
A simple emotional landscape, a total lack of yearning
or desire for change. Stillness. Maybe tomorrow
something different will appear, maybe
the day after, maybe the day of transition will
continue, maybe Mum will come and say:
Adam, you have to go to work.
It’s true. Without work there are no platitudes.
The languid minutes like a washed out
water colour are veiling various things,
simple things. We all know which.
Translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones (with thanks to Karolina Iwaszkiewicz)