Russians
Kind lobes as punched
cups. It gurgles, gurgles,
rain. On the Rhine bank I rolled rock
with blue copper. I lunched
with Rejn’s ex wife. She cried.
Harsh is my hill, my
eye is bloodshot. My hair was
plucked by spiders. While I
sneeze, grottos open. Wild
game airs inside. My juice
is all in white. I’m all in white.
I cry and take small
steps, anthems roar below the
black soil. And you?
Translated from the Slovenian by Michael
Thomas Taren and the author