Let’s say, through the crenel, little
chains were on arms and
legs too, you don’t hit the whole piece.
Usually some storm interweaves.
Roe deers extend with the glass, they
need it to fight fires. But fern
with shields advances too. Sometimes
yes, sometime no. Sometimes yes
and no. Buttons change their position,
you’re my meatball. And
what do you create? The planet. And
what on the planet? The palm
trees. When you stretch your arms, your
eyelids dry. The rain flashes.
Stables are lined up with wood not
with frescoes. They scold
the horse’s ass. In one cubic centimeter
of a pontoon I put Siberia, a
glowworm and another glowworm.
They all swam. O, if the bee
stings in the mouth! The palate
is sweetened. The cold
pushes the horsehair away. The
victory floats away, beggar
barrel. Ladybirds with furrowed
head protect buttonholes.
The serenity is pastured by the
bloody around his mouth.
BOYCOTTING THE PLAN
The girl with her little coat covers
only one fifth of her services.
Mapa mundi rots. It is much
harder to cut down the
mast than the pine tree. It’s oiled.
And not only because it’s
oiled. The boy is proud. He
touches the keel.
The pine tree touches only the
earth that fodders. And
whispers: whom do I hear, whom
do I hear? It cuts waves and
mutters: to me, please. It wets
the flight with saliva.
Translated from the Slovenian by Michael Thomas Taren and the author