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Bdin - The Dump 1

The dump in Bdin

has a peculiar characteristic,

namely that it never ends.

How long have I been walking and walking and walking...

It is the beginning and the end,

the endless horizon of waiting.

Here you can find anything:

from scraps of plastic

to clippings from old newspapers,

unused train tickets,

pictures of unknown girls,

crippled hobbyhorses,

bottles of Coca-cola,

busts of Lenin and Stalin,

used condoms,

swastikas and broken crosses,

books from Mark through Marx to Marques,

from the crescent to the hammer and sickle...

Sometimes I meet

other poets, too,

but they speak foreign languages

and belong to

foreign literatures,

thus we cannot

establish contact.

Sometimes I lie

inside a cardboard box

and feel

like a child

in the womb,

I dream that I am flying...

Sometimes the dump

is warm and breathes.

Sometimes I think

that the people here

live like migratory

birds -


from North to South

from warm to cold

and back.

Thus every

forty years.

I smoke a cigarette butt

and have

nowhere to toss it.


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