JULY

I count the UFOs of your presence.

the sky is barren, July is

contagious, we are sick with July. it is thick around us.

did you hear that, are you listening, are you thought-reading

are you absence-copying me, are you love-creating yourself?

stop. you can*t. this vector’s without end.

write me a star-foreheaded “orange” and know:

July passes the baton to no one,

everything's endless.

we will always meet by chance

in the happy desert of the year 2023

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips