School of Unhabituation

The curtain—against the animals of moods

a cobweb because of the world.

The spider

of my room

is hitched to it

“soir—espoir”

and besides—it’s getting light

At night

to touch a chair’s shape—

to strum any line of a straw mattress—

to taste a dry crumb of ceiling—

they drop in flocks

everything that connects

like moths—

whatever you think up.

So many! So many!

Until we too spin and—

cry out (I, the stove, the mattresses):

“Angels—angels

come sit on the wall

right here!!!”

They sit.

They sing a scale:

hy

po

the

ses

of

rea

li

ty

rea

li

ty

of

hy

po

the

ses

——The spider of my room is hitched to it

and besides—it’s getting light.

Empty eyes blink the curtain.

Now there’s just—predestination

the veil of Ananke—

or the goddess of exhaustion

send me whatever just not

things trapped in habituation.

Translated from the Polish