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Translated by Michael M. Naydan


You always approached
this with suspicion

But here the udder of his heart
flows with the milk of pain

And you  sitting beside him there
all night in the wind and rain
feel how your skin
becomes burned with the rust of doubt

You carefully look at
the scar from the disciple’s kiss
that reddens on his unshaven cheek
like the trace of a dull blade

And for a long time your hands
will have the scent of the gasoline
with which you burned our cities




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