message from the isle of chaos
How long we have been here now, friends,
it was once meant to be a holiday
but what it is now.-
We saw the folder: Chaos, ladies and gentlemen,
Your island: the glossy photographs,
the bright blue bay of Chaos,
the chalk-white fishing village of Krisis.
We read that the island is praised for
its deep, deep quiet,
the last inhabitants are even
called happy under their plane tree.
We thought it was a joke
and went there, but whether it is so –
we sit on the quay
every day
and at our feet lies one of the dogs
every day, afraid we might be leaving.
We can see the Hagia Katastrophi
lying there at anchor, everything
being slowly shit white by the gulls,
lying there waiting for passengers.
How long by now, our story grows still
stranger the longer it lasts.
Should this message ever reach you
or should it not.
