We, who walk upon the leaves

it is us, the very same us who sleep
on the pillows stuffed with the rotten antlers
of deers us who rubbed their phalluses against the green,
sulphurous ocean of the homeland.
that rotten peace shines silver like a wounded teenager’s lip
each time when, petrified,
walking upon the leaves  
we return to the city
from the nearby stars. I cannot think of
a better description of this street at four A.M.
it is the twisted rosemary field, again, in the red-hot wind
biljana died and ohrid now evaporates insects
only to return as the apocryphal dollar rain.
in the dorm-room no. 5 the lights are switched off
black like a blackbird in a snowy wintry forest,
a condom enters the anus of an angel:

cicciolina, I love, I love you too.

Mi, koji hodamo po lišću

Mi, koji hodamo po lišću

to smo mi, oni isti koji spavaju
na jastucima od istrulog rogovlja jelena
što su svoje faluse trljali o zeleni, sumporni
ocean domovine.
taj truli mir srebri se kao bolna teenagerska usna
svaki puta kada se skamenjeni,
hodajući po lišću
s obližnjih zvijezda
vraćamo u grad. ja ne mogu smisliti
bolju deskripciju ove ulice u četiri iza ponoći.
polja ružmarina u twistu, again, na usijanome vjetru
umrla je biljana i ohrid sada isparava insekte
koji će se vratiti kao dolarska apokrifna kiša.
gase se svjetla u spavaoni br. 5
crn prezervativ kao kos u snježnoj zimskoj šumi
putuje u anus anđela:

cicciolina, i love, i love you too.