THERE IS ONLY ONE MORE WELT Translated from the Slovenian by Peter Richards and Ana Jelnikar There is only one more welt staring out of my destiny. Out from this welt I write. The welt hurts. If somebody had cut open my welt earlier, I still might have been able to elbow my way out. I would have taken my destiny off like a shirt and watched it rotate. I have been doing this since the moment I had myself incinerated and gave birth to my first line in order to be calm. I’m letting you know the exact order: Poker, The Purpose of the Cloak, Pilgrimage for Maruška, The White Ithaca, America, Turbines, Arena, Imre, The Hawk, The History of Light is Orange, Feast, Druids, Stars. The Angel Method is for me. Thereafter there is nothing. I have no power over myself. This poem is rather poor. I am only writing it because I feel I have to explain. I am crystal clear. Full insight into me is forbidden. I have never been human. Always an angel. After reaching perfect shape, it disperses.