gaze at the mountains' mirror: are those the heights?
graphic provençal, trickling graphite. rub

some off. the plunge of lead into paper?
into the spoken? and again: spoken speech? the

face is the target. the targeted constraint. the
voice, subdued and rattling, gnashing

and gurgling effusively. bootlegged
tongue tool, burglar's tool, when lists

of memory protocols slowly move
past: a rubbing, a shard, out of a regulated

childhood, out of the blue clattering of slide
projectors. crusty lips, painfully cracked lips

of the stylites. a dirty hand points at your face.

the stylites. a dirty hand points at your face.
Translation Peter Filkins