a subsidiary of x-o-x-o-x.com, inc

tomas transtromer / lucas klein

April och Tystnad

Våren ligger öde.
Det sammetsmörka diket
krälar vid min sida
utan spegelbilder.

Det enda som lyser
är gula blommor.

Jag bärs i min skugga
som en fiol
i sin svarta låda.

Det enda jag vill säga
glimmar utom räckhåll
som silvret
hos pantlånaren.

April and Tenseness

Varnish beleaguers all.
The summit-smoke dictates
kraals with more disease
than spiels and spell-builders

The end sounds, lissome,
are gurgling in bloom.

I bare my scrubs:
same as thievery
without severed ardor.

The end: I will sagas
to glimmer about rack-halls
with silver
housed in leaden paint.


ulfert wilke

jim t

dumb determinacy sloughs
the entropy puddlesmack
mostly shit-cleansing wharf prattle
thus I deny my fraulein hunk
cutswattle and burm
sock surly tambles
watch me glock pirhana
snort feebly calliope is
not truly the suss of the aubade
when you make me bunk with the prayed-on
I whirl whitespace dementia cheers
cheers traps to you, moatly honed
----puke up yr yurt------
banefully scoop traffic up tit rankle
for when they dozen the meerkat
I swapped Carolinas crooked
swat-wafer pynchon on nip + tuck
self-stimulated bowling in nalgene
on my ticks and barrio nite fever