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Mauve withers green lilac now that
it is Easter again. It cuts the cysts of the
eyes, May breaks through with fury
damp generators are its eyes
golden background of fire, clumps of trees the
birds hop about upon the roofs
they burst out fierce-looking in tulip beds
of low voltage, fish chant in the rivers
evaporations chew the lemon
they crown her. Her woolen things are damp
of her own resemblance they confess pure apathy
she will drink an old-fashioned tulle she spits a decoction
the bridal song she admired her electric
iron barked at her

“watch out” she told me then
“don’t make those frightful faces.
If the wind changes
your face will stay like that forever.
And don’t swallow those seeds
Apple trees will grow
in your stomach and choke you”.

Newly born of the sea-lions
with sobbing tears they come to the rocks of the poems
of Tennyson.
I come behind them
holding warm to steam the flabby

(Translated by: Nanos Valaoritis — Al. Shartz)