Creation
Creation,
when God made
the
world, or what was left of it
when
he had made it,
is
such a strange agglomeration
of
the old and constantly new
that
incessantly becomes, I think about it
when
I drive to the next
village
to buy ciagarettes
for
here the kiosk is already closed
at
eight o’clock. I think about it
when
I’m standing outside
the
kiosk (and it too is closed)
and
lots of birds have landed there
and
are pecking around
among
the bits of paper
The
morning of creation
I
think about it
can’t
have been much different, it was
precisely
like this he saw it
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