Sunday, 15 August 2010

Our Motorbike (we wish)

rocket water

wooden moon on the roof

signs of night &

the red motorbike's

bleeding muscle

fleshed stalk dripping

and overgrowing our evening

it too

a sign of darkness

a leek's fat body

the red motorbike

our night fire

ravishment of chrome


our red motorbike glazed

with henna and betel it squirts

salmon  juice between the dark

of our thighs it sprouts

and shouts at the bar

it wears a portion of

evening in its eye

it sloughs off sleep like

the bushes drop resin &


our rags dip purring in

even redder roar

our muscles softly skip sweet

sweat flickers we polish

carefully &

assiduously our eyes are perched

on steel antennae surely there is

nothing redder than our motorbike


we will live on it

our red tent

dig our claws into

its heart cherries meat it

shouts out

spittle rip

the juice instructs

the eyes

in the language of iron

the red night squats

pressed against our motorbike

we ride hunting little girls

in the wooden sky

by Elfriede Jelinek
Translated by Michael Hofmann

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