Our Motorbike

By Elfriede Jeline Translated

By Michael Hofmann

rocket water


wooden moon on the roof

                                    signs of night &

                                    the red motorbike’s

                                    bleeding muscle

                                    fleshed stalk dripping

                                    and overgrowing our evening

                                    it too

                                    a sign of darkness

a leek’s fat body

the red motorbike

our night fire

ravishment of chrome


our red motorbike glazed

with henna and betel it squirts

salmon  juice between the dark

of our thighs it sprouts

and shouts at the bar

                                    it wears a portion of

                                    evening in its eye

                                    it sloughs off sleep like

                                    the bushes drop resin &


our rags dip purring in

even redder roar

our muscles softly skip sweet

sweat flickers we polish

carefully &

assiduously our eyes are perched

on steel antennae surely there is

nothing redder than our motorbike


                                    we will live on it

                                    our red tent

                                    dig our claws into

                                    its heart cherries meat it

                                    shouts out

                                    spittle rip

                                    the juice instructs

                                    the eyes

                                    in the language of iron

the red night squats

pressed against our motorbike

we ride hunting little girls

in the wooden sky

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