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mythology of consciousness

It is late now

and that may be why I can’t remember

narrow passages follow rectilinear

galleries and endless corridors

indelible turns

blinding alleys in the dark

I walk without stopping, up and down steps

I move in circles repeating

my footsteps’ rhythmical sounds

a thick odor follows me constantly

paces ahead of me

clings to me: everywhere with me

I’ve already been here

I know the place

And somewhere in its cold shiver

anxiety’s small caterpillar is stirring

able at any moment to change itself

into the huge dark butterfly

overshadowing with its wings

the childhood hiding places of my life

It is impossible for me to remember

how this ball of yarn found itself in my hands

endlessly unraveling

once, twice, countless times

wherever I pass

always a step ahead of me

yet without guiding me

without showing me

what I’m doing here

and where I may find myself at the end


Translated by David Mason and the author