Inventory of the world

Poem By Hendrik Jackson

travels? voices? (buzzing wires) - on landing you looked: heavenwards
in flight perhaps you belonged to the inventory of the world, in the child's
eyes.
at first the panorama lies there like a lizard, then suddenly it's whizzing past
a gradual fading of intensities, dread shimmered in the glass
(bobeobi peli guby) you hummed. all we do anyway is animate strange
interiors:
gleaming between global vacancies (straw dolls aflame) but
sucking on melancholy or crowning the kingfisher bird of the year
- is one and the same. like in endless loops, overcast state of emergency:
totally fogged (a mail) autumn burns into view wafting out the cockpit door.

Translated by Nicholas Grindell

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