21 октобар 2007


Фото: Додо

Moonlight past Moonlight past
on Bed relaxed Rain
Draught slams that Door
behind which Darkness growls
pleasant it is to be dead

I don`t believe that truly New
is possible in Plastic bag
packed acacia Wood

Moonlight behind Moonlight behind
limpidly-thick on the Rocking-chair
Things have ceased to gorge
neither round is anything any more
nor deeply reserved
the Length of a Glance I measured
up to the Moon
no matter if from the Store
and that Stride which makes me close
to a lonely Mother on the Street
who scolds her Baby
in a Lullaby
it savagely exiles me
out of the Laughing-Death

I don’t believe in Real
Possibility to reveal
in one Creaking the Spring-which-is-Fear

Freshness is Inhale
Copies of Rain
on the ragged Asphalt

this Text will end
when the last Letter
gets sick
for not being Capital

Na engleski prevela Maja

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