Tomaž Šalamun
The North | Poetry
Tomaž Šalamun
The North, which faces north, is stern and blunt like a flash. Seemingly harsh, silent and swift, aggressive and white, seemingly full of magnesium, a waterfall in a vacuum, I say. It weaves and weaves, I give. In the middle of the process my thoughts wander to cigarettes, which I forgot break the membrane and hurt concentration. They push off their backs on their own, push off my shoulders on...
