The Aztec

Tomaž Šalamun
Translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman and the author

Lilies are the mystery,
little boar!
With a skull that will break
as a the skull of an otter. As the sun's
scissors tiring my blooms.
As the rumble that goes, until it goes.
Why were you born in red air, liquid!

Birth is the collapsing of a bridge.
The final hair of the kitten.
And my sky, teeth and tongue,
(in Komna, where I skied)
are registered for death.

Who keeps repeating the moist, treacherous
seed that is no more than a spasm
of the darkest karma.
White otter, look!
Clouds destroy themselves in front of us,
but they don't tear apart their fairy tale.

What should the ear of a rabbit do with my saliva!
I won't console him, even if he
screams: No me muerdas!
Muerde me!


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