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from the March 2010 issue

Largo di Vitoria

Out of milk, out of strong skin jumps the big brother.
When the river flows, the berth sleeps.
There’s the block behind me.
The biggest mango tree in Bahia
is a hundred meters away.
Spike Lee said this.
Where do you rove beneath drying hood?
Young greenhorns move by themselves.
The tribe sleeps on the bench.
Black leg between two seagulls
is dressed in blue slipper.
No one smells itself better then little hills.
The lady with crutches caresses the tired mailman.
The child lies with his legs pointing the monument.
I vomit, as I’m a trunk.
O lumberjack, your woods are feathery.
A graft seizes the near.
The beak dies in conscience.
We hide the confirmation.
There’s no flesh from leaves.
The rule is from Attica, eye of the post promised
as a witness. The vase drinks his neighbor.
Čučo, let's go to have lunch and talk.
There’s no smoke.    

Translation of “Largo di Vitoria.” Copyright Tomaž Šalamun. By arrangement with the author. Translation copyright 2010 Michael Thomas Taren. All rights reserved.

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