Is explicitness a wound?
Is then power
a wound of a wound? Cold indifference,
until the trench sustains, a power plant
being built, where behind
concrete water collects,
seizure in nature
is the production of energy.
What can a hold up of nature bear?
Can it really bear a dam?
Do birds come back on
the bulged eye? Does the earthquake
ruin the wall?
You are a trust, freedom,
an emperor. The victims are drowned
villages, dwellers in them
and I, a native,
under the
strongest attack of  rage
(the rage itself)
an enduring vessel until
the pressure tears it up.
I’m the final measurement.
The last reflection of
the instrument itself
in the chain of total annihilation.

*Translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman and the author