Gods are Maruška, Ana, Francie,
Bob, people. Josephine and Anselm
and a bunch of kids. Ana and Nora
are driven to kindergarten in Scattergood.

Maruška is reading something on her
belly on the couch. Francie
bathes and soaps herself. Usually
she gets up an hour later.

Bob is thinking, he'll jump to the
typewriter and write poems. Josephine
sings, she walks around  the house.

Anselm is obviously sleeping, his
polar day extends deep into the night.
A bunch of kids giggle in various schools.  









   Translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman and the author

He who will stare

at my flesh eye to eye.

He who will feel the blaze

and the large gold rivers of sex.

Whose chest will dent

so a great blue heron burns there.

He who will lean on a fence

and comprehend: golden bark,

it’s full of dew.

Whose breath will be taken away,

hence his body an aggregate.

Who will perceive his own mother

and become shaken to a shriek of glee.

He who will see a flower

and know all things:

he is here.

Let him not flinch.

Let him not rage.

Let him not shrink into a grimace

but fall with his forehead to the ground.

He will become my bread.
 





        Translated from the Slovenian by Ana Jelnikar and Peter Richards

I am a prophet
licking each of my
fangs in yellow
muteness.
I am spring and dew

only the spider knows about.
Wake up!
Even the pearls on my net
are phallic.













 

        Translated from the Slovenian by Ana Jelnikar and Peter Richards

I'm like a white beast, supporting
all cubes of the tribe. Snow White,
spun by the arm of Tacitus.
Tacitus here certainly means muteness,
arms here certainly mean tongs.
Tongs around tongs, you see. 












        Translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman and the author 

In God, red and green water the same field
Rabbits cannot nibble clover on the altar 




















        Tranlsated from the Slovenian by Elliott Anderson and the author

Snow again. Trunks glow from tires.
Speed is slashed again, wounds drip on moss.
A normal steering wheel couldn't have saved me, Europe's
experience is like toxic green crepe paper, rings are peeling,  

congealing like jelly. Monkeys have small light
movements. Energy emits between the colors of Maria.
Weasels are an ally, weasels are an enemy, the dark
is the ally, the dark is the enemy. When I broke through the first 

valley I was gripped by clairvoyance as by tongs.
Laughter, hand washing on all the highways spilled me.
But here I need solemn staircases, a prescribed
walk, rifts are for those who jump off with 

furious relief. At first glance it really does seem
like they are resting in their absence, but they are really just
growing old like yellow book paper, totally
instrumentalized by wisdom to the end.  






        Translated from the Slovenian by Ana Jelnikar and Joshua Beckman