"The Sharp Light of Symbolic Minimalism"

Translated by ChatGPT — who knows, maybe it even makes sense, LOL.

All comically provoked beaches have been lit,
emptied are all ambitiously praised chamber packagings,
enough of the awkwardly trampled pontoon arbitrage —
whose is what, when supposedly it’s all ours.
It’s hard to wake a sleeping bird
when she tirelessly and without asking lies the sweetest words to herself.

Somehow, miraculously, miraculously it all aligns,
when a distant mind gleefully, almost roguishly cunning, meets another mind.
Diametrically opposed positioned palaces
stand at the center of this domiciled jealous theft...

What is the flammable domain of life
without a healthy quarrel, without a bourgeois, innovatively laid argument?

It’s a dark metaphorical, slightly reserved duckling —
he lies, the one who finds it on a blazing street with a slobbery smile.

It’s the bees’ best animated swarm,
moon-eclipsed honey drips and melts,
the best honeycomb dreams in emptiness.
Good people… they’ll steal even your last pair of underpants.

Where are the elder sisters,
and where are the towers where the names of our bravest brothers used to flutter?

To each their own,
to each what reflexively meets them on the dreamy road…
Palaces built on empty summer snow
rip the petrified sky —
and supposedly, we’re all and everything is contradictorily fine.
The white seal weeps without a blue pond,
now sleeps humbly in blind, cramped hay.
That’s how it goes when even the heart itself is lazy…
when it’s all yours,
and nothing — not even the first kiss — belongs to her.

Everything is somehow minimally amputated,
crudely cramped,
when the late-bloomed symbol of a bygone ecliptic ecstasy
gloriously fades in the empty stained glass of others’ dismantled memories —
and as if selflessly,
one seeks the finest corrective, animal, woven shade…

In total darkness,
an amplified apparition shifts to its blistering place —
only clumsy donkeys at high noon madly seek the sixth sense.
Water and head then become sour dough.
So don’t wander the spicy streets too often —
everything has its time
and its place.

Bonus:

HP 5202