The word NORMAL imprints itself
inside the crypt and frightens
Glagolitic priests. I open the wall.
I sit on
the grass. I lean against
the wall. White lumps of lye,
what do you want? My eyes are
safe. The wall is a
mogul’s wall. No connection between a dolphin
in the air and a dolphin in
water. Those three drops are betrayal.
The moon is not a round pontoon,
it’s not. It’s not a piece of mantra in a little notebook.
I’m leaning on honey.
(Translated by Jeffrey Young and Katarina Vladimirov Young)