this draught from talk

this draught from talk: tangled syllables
at the bottom of lungs, the delicate limbs
of serifs on tongues, the smell of damp
paper. tell me about eurasia, about the clean
CUT of the mountain range in our frozen

CENTER, urals, and about what follows,
this bird destination, where huts are built
from corrugated tin and tar, styrofoam, where semi-
somnolent rats devour stories, and rivers
are filthy with flowers and flesh, where they

speakand constantly drink tea, where they greet and
diethe one is always the one: listen

Original © Ulrike Almut Sandig
Translation © Bradley Schmidt