Interior Design. By Helena Santic Isakov. Translated with Charles Elffers.

My eyes are in the gullet of a python,

not yet masticated

waiting ton be stomached;

observing a marvelous

interior of Tsardom,

and my own death.

Can my eyes,

that are separated from me,

feel the fragrance of the end,

and sense my souls pulse

unsightly,

which are crying invisibly.

How many glances are left

before the ultimate?

On the brink, an experiment;

a conspiracy of remodeling.

they hopelessly tried to implant

a new set of jovial eyes into me.

Everybody waited for a happy ending,

but my old eyes

are the only ones that know,

because they are seers of death:

How many glances are left

until the very end.

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