This morning’s croissants

already taste somewhat stale.

The newspapers on the table

are like a ventriloquist hunger.

I wish vision were not

an irreversible act,

that our sense of history might extend

beyond breakfast.

Let us disembark from playbacks,

the choreography of interviews.

Instead of painful truths, truths with

open palms.

The headlines have a taste of elevator conversation;

the world, a giant program of predictive writing.

The news read with most conviction

is that upon which

I peel a potato.

Much information is losing control.

The truth will make you

slaves.

Translation by Lawrence Schimel