Aušra Kaziliūnaitė (b.1987) is a poet.
She received a BA in history and an MA in religious studies from the Lithuanian Pedagogical University. Currently, she is pursuing her doctoral studies in philosophy at Vilnius University. She has published two collections of poetry: First Lithuanian Book (2007) and 20% Concentration Camp (2009).
For the former, she was awarded the Elena Mezginaitė Prize. Her third book, The Moon is a Pill, was published in 2014. Her fourth poetry book I am Crumbled Walls came out in 2016.
Aušra is one of the youngest members of the Lithuanian Writer’s Union.

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reflections on belonging

a palmers chronicle right bw

Graphic Novels

Aušra Kaziliūnaitė
golden fleece, fur, an apple and us

Run, comrade, the old world is behind you!

we walk with churches at our backs
we look for a fitting street
in which to drink up the leftover night
we look for a fitting street
in which to scream out our leftover light
we are busted mufflers, yes,
we are ashtrays
and tears – until that moment
when you give them a reason to be

we rot away inside of us
and the waiter on Île St. Louis
drives us from the outdoor café
dressed as a hippie
touching my hand, counting to three
with a huge peace sign hung
around his neck – 1 € –
it’s that kind of party, you know

i can hear the breaking bones of cars
and my laughter, your laughter
no no, not that laughter
the other one, the one you don’t know
until it happens
and the mufflers fall off
the lights go out
and ashtrays are emptied by a gust of wind
Vulcan melts them down in his hearth
of laughter, the other laughter
winking, he gives you a thumbs up –

like a Persian cat
that bona fide
factory of hair
the production manager, director-in-chief
licking himself repeatedly in public
with no shame or other bullshit
then choking on his own products
– spitting out a hair ball

that’s us
searching for a street in which to disavow ourselves
because the public toilets are all full

we search for a long time, finally
something heavenly happens
we clear our throats and cough
out a lump of light

let it go to the nursery
let it climb a tree
let it play in the sandbox
with dogshit and other goods
in other words, let it live


drive on up to the sky
and give the sun
some time off


an old woman taking a fighting dog for a walk

i saw them
slowly slipping
along the sidewalk
snorting into
winter’s bowl

they struggled forward
so differently

that they became
the only thing
that wasn’t a swear


second floor

from my windows i can see
the trolley bus wires
take the people away

electricity sparks and

pupils narrow
and expand

blood flows to the temples

and a buck restlessly raises
his head

to listen for the unheard murmur
of the night from which he drank



i don’t do the work i like to do
i avoid the people whom i love
i don’t talk to those whose presence i enjoy

only by doing dull things and
hanging out with shitty people
can i believe that the world is beautiful


the apocalypse or a toothpaste commercial containing some characteristics of the apocalypse

And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth,
to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death,
and with the beasts of the earth.

Revelation 6:8

to tear with the teeth of the beasts of the earth
to repeat with the teeth of the beasts of the earth
to be stupefied and to say goodbye
with the teeth of the beasts of the earth
to press the crosswalk button
with the teeth of the beasts of the earth
to cognize and recognize
with the teeth of the beasts of the earth
to ask without waiting for an answer
with the teeth of the beasts of the earth

as if a traveller tossed
from his shoulders
a raw leather bag
and from that bag
night’s ocean poured

as if it had
the teeth of the beasts of the earth
with the teeth of the beasts of the earth


a city in a city

a city flows
from a shampoo bottle
onto your hair

where you get
a ticket
for parking
the full moon
in the wrong

someone is cutting
a clearing
for a camp
in a tenement

they build
the day into it
and walk
arm in arm
down the street


as in the sky, so in

i see clouds

looking at dragons, knights and castles
i see only clouds

i see one cloud domesticated
with a whip and
a town

the sky of the town –
an unmade bed

and the seagulls of town
still remember us –
the unprayerful

but their squawks recede
on the wind usurped
by pitiless
red tenement tracts

bloody red-ement tracts
that spit out a black-haired maid
who makes the bed

of clouds i see
swimming by
amazed at her dexterity

as she removes the seagulls
and changes them
for something fresh
in the jar of autumn

in the city’s autumn streets and squares
you can catch the cooking scent
of death

and your heart is filled
with maddening joy
you want to run and scream
and swing your arms about

but you sit on a bench
paging through a book
waiting for the trolley bus
and then go to the store

holding close to a secret

while death in autumn
opens its kitchen
windows just a crack

and you feel, finally
in fact,


Translated by Rimas Užgiris your social media marketing partner



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