Now for the sake of caution, I must warn the dear reader not to fall for this particular ruse, and that the persuasively written footnotes are part of the act as well. Vytautas Ališauskas’s recent collection of poems – Jono Naujoko eilės (“John Freshman’s Verses”) presents us with layers of artificial authorship: the author operates […]
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Doll in labyrinths of evening sky my soul gets lost in the blind eyes of heaven in the bottomless rifts of consciousness distant thunder the autumnal hair god opens time to dead-ends sleep the stilled breath of a child with orange ribbons in her hair a mother
by mistake the crucified is like a marionette in the hands of whomever touched his mother all over but through an angel they touched as through a membrane they caressed until her body was fertilized though maybe someone else in someway else also fertilized her body as a woman through a great mistake (misbe-)held this
road-tie to confuse similar sounding words can mean that one morning in a hurry you tie on not a neck-tie but a road-tie on which all sorts of vague vagabonds gather sticking out their thumbs for non-existent routes they’ll smoke while waiting and stub their cigs all over your laundered shirt your collar will grow
Walking I love Vilnius, its paths, library the fingerprints pressed into bricks I love the ink on your hands I flow into your fissures and I scoop up the heights with that ink – this city’s relief allows it – I gabble nonsense while sense stays silent walking is my speech walking is my expression
Chambers (BA Thesis) I cover my ears with the letter – a summons to appear before court in April. The envelope’s paper is thick, bearing a family resemblance to cardboard. I cover my ears as with a shield: I can hear the cheese and radishes fornicating in the fridge, where the sour cream screams out
The beginning of the end Snowy winter in a cold church, we Clambered up scaffolding, Covered with a dirty cloth. You showed me unveiled frescoes – Few centuries old, Grayish green, Pale. Tuberculosis-like. I saw you loved them no less Than me. I saw your eyes sparkle When you were talking about them. And I
ORPHAN HOURS Some nights, submerged leviathans, intermittently recognized by dorsal fin patterns, break the surfaces of deep marine dreams, breech occasioning rough wakes, probing echolocations answered by the hard-pounding notes of the central organ. ~ Some nights, tined travelers with ultraviolet-tuned eyes recognize us dreamers slumped under snowy sheets, like lichens, waiting to nourish something;
Infinitive I thought I had already written everything, though I didn’t know a word about you, and then I understood it’s time in this room of memory, to tear out the load-bearing wall, to rip up that feeble construction holding a person or barn, the hopes of you and me, slowly ebbing no matter how
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solarium when you consider how they’ll close you in and shove you into fire or into the ground, think: it’s a solarium solaris a pilot’s sunglasses and sunrays going right through the bones vacation at night I dream of floods: mother, drinking my milk, sighs sated and white between the lambs and wool; on a
