nobody can stand here anymore with a gun where the
borderlines fall together
and there is no in-between, and no word is tinted by another

but he has to stand there colouring words
and open up a space between the lines for a watchtower,
a night vision device, a long sigh, with a gun

that isn't his, that he can't practise unsupervised,
with no one to take him between the legs, between the arms, between
the lines - they'd just have to do without him for a while

and his flowering badge and his wiped rags until he wouldn't even know
where his gun ends but the shot he lets fire
covers up his breach of the rule that here in the place where two lines meet

there can be no space

translated by Gig Ryan