Ivan the factory
Ezekiel"s chariot
Kraków, Kazimierz
Šalamun"s temple
Ethno counting-out

for Darko Jerković & Juraj Šiftar

He was already the dust that you are
right there on every star

from where the galloping frenzied cavalry
shall lay down their sabres
citterns and sceptres
into the ashes of the millions of dead
whose expired eyesight
is forever inscribed in the river silt
and your blood:

audible like that divine wind
blowing at times through your voice
when a turbid river runs through that gash on your hand
wherein all those glorious
chiromantic peddlers
tried to deposit their marshal spawn

Ö is the code of all true veterans
of this ancient war
making an angel or two in the heavens
carry their barbaric arms even today

Only one dead starfish and one fallen
heavenly star
know that what their eyes once saw
those straw dogs barking
in the placenta of your birth

My whole world
has been displaced into a million blind alleys
since I began disliking night
and everything became so predictable
and alien to the point of becoming utterly repulsive
but I swear to you
that a blind man told me in a dream
that sometimes he can quite clearly see
Ezekiel’s chariots
falling in burning pieces from the red-hot sky
right there before his feet
blinding him over and over again
with that flash
just as you and I are somewhat touched
at the close of a day or towards the end of a summer
by that same wasteland
that same no place
between a knife and a mourning dove

AuthorDelimir Rešicki
2018-08-21T17:22:57+00:00 June 25th, 2009|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 66|0 Comments