In Lisbon Hydrants Vomit
The evening is calm. Elephants
sway in their own nest.
Little herbs with caps give light
to the power struggle.
The gliders are all gray.
Carps wave them.
Throw, throw yourself on the sycamore
roof. First we traveled
on the wagon top in Mexico.
The beastmaster is greasy,
he saves money. Sophie! Offer me coffee!
With the T-shirt, tight. Yes.
Even a liter of water tells more. Not to
Mention the white mottled purim.
Translated from the Slovenian by Michael
Thomas Taren and the author