A Face From Widely Circulated American Magazines

as we walk through a forest tunnel above us hangs the unmoving December sky the stars squint through the braided treetops at seven o’clock in the evening cold needles on the ends of a hornbeam’s branches they fall off and break on the aqueous foliage the southern wind blows I remember The Damned Yard the dementia of ghosts in the  []

I Am Not a Person From Sarajevo

in Sarajevo April is truly the cruelest month where fantasy and horror mix in the test tubes of the bodies ghosts hang in the air, ghosts of literary schizophrenia you only have to pick them, those sad bunches of universes for which you will pay with your own blood at Bistrik and Kovači the houses are fenced by high walls  []


I live on the other side of all things I am not of isms, nor did I come out of anybody’s uniform I hate most the literary evenings and festivals There I feel all the sorrow as it builds up within people useless sediment, except in art I live on the other side of all things beside Saturn’s ring on  []

The Una

that is my river in her I have recognized myself there where the reeds are the braids of travertine nymphs who in August, when the water level lowers, show their thighs on which walk incandescent swimmers while the summer sun sprays the air that is my river swift as a thought of one’s beloved capable like opal of changing shades  []