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THE BRIDE WINS BOTH TIMESTo provoke the pasture’s ladder, to wash out the cat’s message,What you hear through the walls is panic coming here.In Morocco he whipped slaves. First I open the chest.The ribs turn gray. I hold tight to the shovels, birds rip them frommy hands. I saw nomads, women on horseback. The dog days will come dressed in aT-shirt. I’ll show your hand, my hand is your hand.Who drinks foliage through the silver of trees? A carriage couldn’trace by here, the brambles would wreck it. A believerclimbs the fence, look at that big little trumpet flaring itsnostrils. Debar clings to terraces, the house is fullof snails. Snow is beautiful. The moon calms his lips.You flash him signals for cricket, eat chickens at midnight.Isn’t the wood for bramblebees rowing the river?They think nothing of closing the eyebrows of someone like you.
GRISCHA’S FEZTo chop up cotton and read through a cookbook.To be running behind and hang from your lower jaw.I’m free to drink bottoms up. Ganymede
gets stuck in a summerhouse. And oh how flowers grew by thepathways. Do you see how I lopped off their heads?Do you see how I step on his scalp as an officer?
They poured streams of hot water on me to harden mymustache. They peeled the enamel off Cassandra’s tooth.By god, she marches over purple plums. She salutes and
keeps marching on the purple plums. A washed pot, ifyou shine a deer in it, vomits craquelures back in yourmouth and eyes. King of the news, hitch up your sleigh, tramplethe taffeta
and yarrow. There are petals in the cups. They beckon to a feastof the moon. Elongated horses are the hairstyle aroundthe moon. Giants fight over cards. Giants rake
leaves. The rakes may go, the sand remains, the rakesmay go, the earth remains. Bang! goes a rake handle, and hitsa giant in the head, because somebody stepped on the
rake tines. Doves are the tiles between cathedrals. Woodsmenbend down, get up, bend down, the town hall is split on itspeak. A peacock takes pity on a lake. Replace
tooth with fake gemstone, woodsman with woodenboat. Mists rampage in the comics. The horse is fondof white. A beggar banging with a stick on the edge of
a bell has sand and rain pouring from his hat.Gums are a cozy nest. Draw little jugs out of the clay. The Turksmade off with Srebrna while she drank at a well.
HONEY AND HOLOFERNESI’ve invented a machine that, as soon as a goldfinch opensits throat, starts dumping bags of concrete inside. Who licked the candiesinto concrete, we don’t know. Who then brought
the concrete to life, we don’t know. The goldfinch sails. The goldfinchsings. Where are you, Eugenijus? Racing across, openinga hollow with your fingernails. You the pain of the contour, me
that of the train. Linda Bierds drives a car that comesfrom the Tatras. The condor ripens the bird. My trousers smell likegasoline. Do you see the pool? Do you see the pool? Do you see
the angel’s elbow? It led me to those cliffs arrayedlike Vikings. Zebras have scraped eyes.Ibrahim, Drago and Miklavž are great guys.
Iodine boils a bird’s head. It dies in the mud. Iswallow bread. What did you see in the innerdarkness to earn it? A bifurcation for
both and the bent, silver-plated head of awalking stick? Boxes of honey deliveredby parachute, which deer antlers
provided? Pythagoras is plunder. A cat lickshis ears all summer and winter. Pins directedthe bloodflow of saints. Stones erode
on the shoals. I shove Diran’s head away fromthe table. This clump is a tombolo. And thatpigeon on the plate. Mother of pearl. Gray head.
TRANS-SIBERIAEvery ball is a bloody, beautiful mask of powerful people.We make up pretzels.I always did like chickens.
O, slender fez, mildew perching on its fur.The poet is an oafish celeb on a hood.Of every wondrous power. On a hood.
I glance over my right shoulder and seea lake with the canon bathing in it.The marmots that shot past me weren’t
marmots. Come on, god, sail off to abstraction.Stepfather! Your mouthful eats soup, you only see it.Nem Keckeget arrives in Japan and jumps down.
Us Us darns stockings. Here are the teeth of theiron comb that still remembers the stationand steam, but for Cendrars no longer matters.
The only thing now is that you can’t justpleasantly say, “if you’d take off that shirt,too,” the way Marci and Hudi said it to me.