Legs on the Signpost
Translated By Tomaž Šalamun & Michael Thomas Taren
The insane devotee throbs with his
small legs, I don’t dare more.
The insane devotee throbs with his
small legs, I cannot do more. Bricks are
yellow, made of polyvinyl, fattish. We
people die. Lemme aks you, no l’s no
r’s from the Japanese and Chinese,
only the white mushroom,
a cataract. Animals are prolific. You
come from the valley, from your
spine. From something more? From
the risen sun. To smoke oneself
on the roof. To change clothes and
dry one’s hair in water lily.
Source: Poetry (May 2014)