Every morning I descend into the street
and the street wraps me up
like a bandage over a wound.
I cross the Noord. Its unfaithful dogs
lick my hand.
The flesh of my enemies,
in big and bluish chunks,
runs under the bridges.
This is how I advance through the city
like a cruel and lazy god.
Turn by turn,
the streets wrap me up wildly
and, under the military rags of the morning,
this very wrapping becomes the city itself.
Thinner and more lucid than ever.
This is how I advance through the city.
Like a finger taking a walk inside the wound,
making it bigger and bigger.
translated by Liliana Ursu