Poem By Daniel Falb
by sunrise I already felt myself a publican
but was from federal express. en route to receiver
don't leave out a treadmill, no traces, just infections, just wear and tear.
my tourette syndrome always did the talking for me,
but now the ceremonies held.
the joke with the banana peel became substantial
and for the sake of propriety, i repeated it once again.
I didn't find the mailbox, or, rather, just the mailbox.
the offices were empty, but bugged, it was a stall:
my livestock's viruses, like savings still in the air.
Translated by Brian Currid