“The Visit” in “What We Are When We Are / Kaj smo, ko smo”
The Visit 
With my saliva I polish the moon that swims
on the surface of my sleep. The princess-hunting
season is never-ending, it warns me, as
the darkness enfolds me in its paws. No worries,
even as a girl takes off her socks, taking
the evening skin for a walk through the maze
of consciousness, where knives stroll that would
like to leave their trace, she knows that the muses like
flies fall on sugar, on the glare, on the red carpet, and so
as a goodnight treat I feed them with a better
future. I open the champagne of my heart, I serve
myself bubbling blood and—so that it forgives me—
I also toast the earth, but it does not budge.
It is fed up with the outpouring of the red liquid
that fills its pores: it cannot sneeze, lest it take
my bones off the hook. Awake, I wander off
to the night kitchen for a glass of water; you are
sitting there, and ask me for a light. Dead people
don’t smoke, I say, real princesses sleep during the
night, they do not invite those who have just died
to visit them, you smile and grow pale in the moonlight.
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