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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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The ruins that count are not studied by any archaeology
They do not make people wonder and they Do not put money in the pockets of the travelling agents No, they are left outside the objective world of science And outside the subjective world of emotion and humanism They are the ruins of flesh, the eaten up youths Spent in the shadows of the history Where the flash-lights of the public conscience never reach They are just as petrified as the ancient cities And there’s nothing that grows on them, not even poisonous grass Not even the faintest vegetal asperity That could serve as a handle for the others, that could Alter their strange transparency, their being like they are not at all These are the ruins I care about, I even Thought of building a church on them
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