Literary Bash

Like eggs of hail
from the blue sky,
the buzz of greasy bluebottles
the twitter of eggheads.

Interior sounds
of matter fatigue.

Never stopping.

But even Orpheus
when things got tough
and he was leading Eurydice
out of the underworld
was quiet as a grave,
the only sound
his crunching step
on the bodies of snails
shedding indigo blood.

In our world-under-the-world
there will be no Eurydice,
just the gabble of tipsy
bickering words.

  -Miroslav Holub
  translated by Dana Habova