← v7n1, Spring 2008Poetry · 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.
