Poetry died in the 70s
or was it ever alive?
I am not sure about that
a kind of grainy tv screen
connects me with the past
and words crawl from eternity to eternity
behind the curtain of history into my mind.

Poetry died in the 70s
but I am still alive
I am sure of that
a kind of high definition glance from the mirror
connects me with the present
and emotions jump from now to now
behind … nothing.

Poetry died in the 70s
and I will also die
I reject being sure of that
a kind of hologram inside of a dream
connects me with the future
and data packets just appear from the endless void
behind the veil of everything.