A FEMALE VISITOR OF A SECOND-HAND SHOP: / POSJETITELJICA DUĆANA RABLJENE ROBE:
It’s scary to bite
wool-loaded spaces
Jumper-gall next to jumper-night,
jumper-god next to jumper-blood
jumper-milk in sickening quantities,
the rows of pants cold-bloodedly deprived of aim
Can anyone tell me what they have done with the bodies?
Mechanical hands are picking out, picking out, searching,
they must know who they are coming from
I’ve stumbled upon a brecht-shirt which says:
it is a crime to talk about flowers with so much pain around
I’m insensitive, I can feel it in my pockets,
my fists crumbling it,
and the stereotype cashier shudders
having touched what coins say,
but her empty look keeps staring straight into the heaven
Tell me, what have they done with the bodies?
Soon,
when wood knocks on wood and I stay closed,
I’ll be home
(What, what have they done?)
Out of darkness the consultation of plants will whisper:
breathe, breathe, breathe