(Translation: Paul Vincent)
Neon light, how it often starts flickering
when I’m aware of my futility. Coincidence, it’s true, but
thinking of my cosmic tininess
I already saw (made) them blink: a mirror-fronted wardrobe’s neon tube, the T
of Bar Tamar, the hat of Tio Pepe
advertisements. And that the popping of a streetlamp near a window
can already cause minute alarm, shift
during the deed, so that a different sperm cell than the one from which we –
had made it. So lamppost maintenance – may it
always be done with blind arbitrariness – is ethically a highly
charged business.
