Classic Poem

to Karl Max Ostojic

Why do you stare at the little box
That in her emptiness
Holds the whole world

If the little box holds
The world in her emptiness
Then the antiworld
Holds the little box in its antihand

Who'll bite off the antiworld's antihand
And on that hand
Five hundred antifingers

Do you believe
You'll bite it off
With your thirty-two teeth

Or are you waiting
For the little box
To fly into your mouth

Is this why you are staring