(translated from the Slovenian by the author and Michael Tomas Taren)




Raucous black sky, why did you swallow my
proof?
Who authorizes you for this gluttony?
My brothers are flowers.

Can you still smell haystacks and lemons blooming?
The body, dipped in water, loses its scent.

Kids on the coasts smoke their pipes.
We jointly burn our eyelashes.

Raucous black sky, did you tally the food?
What do you do in a crowd with white cherries?
Is there any wedge in your gluttonous cave?
What kind of papers do you burn under the pagoda?
Don't birds crash into your eyebrows?
You, who can't divide the yolk from the white
where do you keep your colors?
You think I'll feed you like an hourglass
that can be rotated into eternity?
I'll break the horseshoe, we'll see if you go on
breathing!
And your barriers will burn down
under the water's surface.
Raucous black sky, my intimate!
Show, show the stones.
Let the otters' eyes on them be pulverized
so you'll count and sniff better.
You're the belt!
No-father!

Your clayey and silky flags
go mad at the touch of each other.
Where then is the papier- mâché?
Do the stars get hurt in my body?
Have you ever asked them?
You have your gods shut in dishes like peasants
their cabbage trod down in casks.
You're deaf!
I've bitten off your heel, five times!
But it grows back like the beard of saints in the deserts
and they don't eat at all.
The earth is my bonbon, glutton!
The rest of the fruit we'll go halfs.
I beat the carpet dust in your mouth
to make you cough, black one!
And my children, I'll roll them
and I'll bend and I'll glue them so they'll leap up
and cut your throat while you smack and dream
about warmth as you drink my blood.
Raucous black sky, give me back my number!
Do you see these damp curved paws?
They're yours if you agree to the rules of the game.
Melancholie should flow like a river through us both! 




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