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My last meal should be a poor man’s breakfast-
a slice of Lithuanian black bread
a hard boiled egg and a piece of
fat and just slightly salty Baltic herring

I transformed myself in her freezing rivers—
Lietuva burst a floret, yare devil, and a pixy.

Photo by Salionas
and so, I claw with my fingers
at the emptiness
to which, my blood, from time to time,
waving its little hand, says hello

Photo by Greta Ambrazaitė
there, were a still living bird sings,
sings of how we will not die,
but simply remain invisible for all time

Photo by Zenonas Baltrušis
Thusly, we momentarily see reality, crawling through
the trenches, showing its spikes to the outside world.

Photo by Vladas Braziūnas
what of it
that i stand watch for the third day
over an unborn poem

Photo by Justina Bastytė-Žilinskienė
and the snow will crunch, and the dew will push through the door,
and there will be nothing,
only three hearts, palms grown together

Photo by Laura Vansevičienė
It’s liberating, like removing diapers from a child –
I crawl through my dream naked and without shame.

Personal Archive Photo
Summer ends in my womb
while autumn begins to ripen.
I’ll have a little wolf
every night now.

Benediktas Januševičius
am I free? – I ask myself
could I be free? – I have my doubts
am I under arrest? – not yet

Donaldas Kajokas
let life live itself

it’s not stupid after all
it knows what it’s doing

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