Look, I'm protected
by the alibi of poetry,
I'm writing a poem.
And my need for meaning
grants me high credit
for zig-zag writing.
But no, I will not use exponents
of collective protection
exclamation mark, question mark, break.
I will use torment. West Balkan hardship.
Goodwill can come only from arrival:
I was combing my hair and a book arrived:
Cutting the Chaos. Elegantly
it became a part of my hairdo.
The fact is: One book, One poem,
One desired way.
I felt protection is . . . past, and
I keep emotion as a mask.

I exhausted my artistic strength. All
you could put in an ominous box
is working happiness.