Šalamun Tomaž:
Earth

Koper defines darkness. Mothballs of circumcision

go to Cannes. Say you traveled under and over the         

  earth,

returning like stitches. I didn’t. The engineer

leveled my swim across his drawing board. Water!

My yellow Ami boiled over. The same with the

  homeopath

questioning the spawner: he can’t

hope for the truth. The meetings were always

the previous ones. When they bring shrouds, compasses,

bibs - did you add something to the signature? You

don’t know if moss drips from your tongue. There are

submissions. Trees tied together like braids

that rub together. A guarantee is a long hair. Small

is the body, huge the fin, and what you call

brutality: self-evident. Touch this

landscape beneath her. I don’t want to watch

them torture pancakes. They’re lusty. You

are all lusty. They all anoint the circle of the sun.

Virgins, foam, fish. We leap over her

along with density. Between the first and second

breaths the sex veers, it wants every fruit.

Violence tears water apart and plucks lint. The miracle

keep occurring. When the wood pile before

the mountain cabin is torn down, and a cricket,

a fugue, and a cantilena are the same: utter bliss.