older than all the trees
older than the house’s walls
he was time’s brother

I used to tell him stories
but he knew them
all
the memorable verses
were received by his bored yawn

telling

yo!
you’re so
pathetic
details of unimportant things
lie in wait for you
yo!

like Whitman and his leaves of grass
Baudelaire with worms
Poe and his crow

Paunescu and Vieru with their fatherlands
and the present ones
with their ever-happy genitals

and all these thoughts...
dogs yapping in a dream
by all the planet’s trees