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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