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Ognjen Smiljanic – Tortu Hartisti

Ognjen Smiljanic
Tortu Hartisti

neon lumps, hunched
panzergears arranged
to mold wing grease
  trochillic point to rush and be conveyed,
 perforated metal plates from my lilies.
 beneath the sound of
pantytwist salmon, of pelagic square files
fearful that I may be velvet,
I have a sandbar flapping in some incoming
             language

the back of the last mule
is broken under the copies of birds,
at each gain he prodded
her with a broken stomach-piece,
to kill her slowly drawing deer,
large numbers sawing where I stand

He regresses well on such occasions:
the listen-curd in exchange for my life
the thud of falling upon oneself
moved as the photo was being taken

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