TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

Barbara Korun in each move a deep unstoppable desire for a woman

I trust a twitching face and hands clinging to a closed umbrella in her lap a scrawny woman from Cameroon with a warm low-pitched voice she’s all by herself

as in childhood I now trust only the simple things the sleep that has to come the sleep that I call to out of a wide-awake pitch-black night (memories are glass shards glass shards in the dark) The smell of humans

for days I’ve been mulling over my report on my work with refugees by no means can I put it on paper this smell this smell of humans of the human being

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