Vanja Strle

A PUPA OF FLAMEA pupa of flame and a frost sickle above it.No, I don’t hear anything at all.The deafened substanceof silence, fallen out of itself,a soot and fog factoryfor a drunken sun.And yet there is no mirror bearingthe ray, which comes from the dance of two hands,an unknown mute letter in the ear of grain of nearness.Gloominesslike a parachute of dreams.As if the soul had knocked against the bronze,against the juncture of a fluidic binding,which pulsates through the veinsand wants a sticking resin of the trap.No, I don’t hear anything...

Vanja Strle

BUBA PLAMENA Buba plamenain srp iz mraza nad njo.Ne, ne slišim ničesar. Oglušena tvarina molka, ki je padel iz sebe, tovarna saj in megle za pijano sonce.In ni zrcalna drža žarek, ki ga dvoje rok poji, neznana črka v klasu bližine.Otožnost kakor padalo sanj.Kakor če trči duša ob bron, ob stičišče tekočih vezav, ki polje po žilah in hoče lepljivo smolo pasti.Ne, ne slišim ničesar. Ta razpozabljeni molk preveč oglušujoče ječi.PROSIMKjer ni ničesar, kar bi lahko razpihal, raznesel, razpovedal v sinje nebo, v...