I saw the old world’s birth,
Whole streets of delapidated houses
Were erected, with rusty rain
Downspouts, broken off a couple of meters
From the ground, doorframes ripped out in entryways
And other structures of neglect. Smokestained Opels
And Volkswagons with dents in their hoods and
Splotches of rust were driven into the country in caravan
After caravan. And old folk came in droves from all over the
World, from everywhere they brought these unwanted
Old timers, joyfully coughing into their knit
Gloves at the local tram stops.
And life iced over. The whole world hit the brakes, water
Flowed more slowly from faucets, the police
Chased thieves more slowly, who went for their guns slower
And pulled triggers that fell apart like rot,
As they released one last fiery flower of a shot.
A bullet would fly forward for at least a century, finally freezing
In the air, like a tablet dropped into thick, transparent syrup.
Or like a yellow vitamin pellet, past its expiration date,
That rolls behind the cabinet and lodges in dust, wrappers and
nostalgia.