Psalm Without Fault by Tadeusz Nowak

don’t write these poems my dear don’t write them
a crow crouches in the vent-hole
and the blind tear themselves out of dreams
and johah can not get out of the whale

not only does the bone stick out of the earth
and also out of the skylight and out of sleep
and a black egg take out
does not help on an agonising night

taken out of a nest on a poplar tree
smashed in june for this summer
that already crouches in us and hurts us
with memories from freckled rust

throw all those knives at yourself
throw all those axes, hatchets and saws
and watch how your god can not
come out of the egg my dear

until crows creep once with the unborn
lambs and peck out eyes
spellbound by you and everyone
and in you even blood does not flow

until in waters filled with birth trauma in the floodgate
the world streams into the pond from bruised croaking
and pecks out of him the blind hunger
and you are without fault, you are without fault

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