There
The net-like inexistent fans
of forgetfulness
were the only
consolation
among the blood
of a virgin
who never mentioned her name
among the songs
of the gray substance
in the red fine winds
yet it was meant
between the hooks
the wheels
the springs
and the tears
of the young whale
to sprout, just like that,
a fico tree
that decorated
the poor hall
voices
and the unmade tragic beds
of spasms
Manolis Aligizakis 