If I were Tomaž Šalamun,
I’d always be happy, I think.
I’d dance on the Small Market Square until all hours to a melody no one could place.
I’d play Mahler’s Fifth gaily on the accordion.

What’s the use, I’m an introvert,
who returns books late to the library
and sometimes envies life’s heroes—
the bronzed lifeguards on August’s beaches.
I could go on.

'Tis done---but yesterday a King! And armed with Kings to strive--- And now thou art a nameless thing: So abject---yet alive! Is this the man of thousand thrones, Who strewed our earth with hostile bones, And can he thus survive? Since he, miscalled the Morning Star, Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.

Athwart the bed
I watch the moonbeams cast a trail...read more.