HORIZON
morning is late
on the perimeter of the sight
the night is being printed in the ruins of the sky
which shoots in the temples
on the light street
the rough horn of the exit
from the iron womb of the city
bearing his name
restlessly go to their vigil
passing by me
the eyes of a tramp
that encounter of our existence
the point is in the infinite
in which the movements intersect
parallel paths
while slowly
the head in the hood is closer
system crash
they say that before being
there is politics
which is the economy
logic of slavery
and optical deception
or we have something else
to leave it in stock
the future that is here
and so it's nowhere
translation: Darko Djordjevic
poet: Bogdan Cvetkovic
