← v7n1, Spring 2008
Poetry · Volume 7, Number 1

Washington, Tomaž Šalamun | translator Brian Henry

No one rides on

the crest. No one stops Rembrandt.

Trousers worn down on parmesan.

On the crests of the hooved.

Dinosaurs are made of rubber,

more precisely, of green

water-soluble chewing

gum and that molasses

à la watered-down sherry.

You are drunk.

Of course I reserved two beds.

Of course I will force the door, what do I care.