Bats

Ripe bats trickle down dark leaves.
New graves distill in vagrant mist.
A thousand fat flowers sleep
in the deep mouth of a black ravine,

as a naked girl laughs and vomits.
A hard drunk boy in tall grass
worms towards the nymph. A stench
of willowherb chokes the riverbed.

A genial wind fans. The girl’s
virgin Vespa is safely secured
in the forest’s confident bosom.
A tarred boat sloshes in a weak stream.

From The Bad Mother (Paha äiti), 2012.

Comments are closed.