Surveillance cameras makes it hard to see what Sara is doing to her crotch.
We’re dying but we can’t find the evidence.
Every time I make an image of myself an angel dies.
I’m shivering cold because I feel too much,
for example about my wife who has tits in Los Angeles.
My son asks me about a girl who shivers and doesn’t have eyes,
so I leave him and go to a museum of media.
The topic is virgin violence.
I pretend to know my way around. I pretend to translate the images into words but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about translation: it’s all about corpses.
Dig me up in a 100 years and I’ll tell you about children dying outside my window. How they smelled like rotten fruit. So what.
Tonight the whores are going to sew in my dolls.
There’s a worm in my hand and its small and white.
It comes from the flowers the whores game me last night when I walked home with my white face and shaking hands.
The media museum smells bad it reminds me of the whores’ gowns and how they burned.
My son is frantically beating on the wall.
He’s scared the whores will burn the house down.
They won’t, whore-boy.
Johannes Göransson is the author of five books, including most recently Haute Surveillance (Tarpaulin Sky, 2013), and the translator of several more, including works by Aase Berg, Johan Jönson and Henry Parland. He edits Action Books and Action, Yes, writes for Montevidayo.com and teaches at the University of Notre Dame.