The following is translated from Lithuanian
by Laima Sruoginis
I have changed some line breaks
to make it easier to follow.

hell hole
by Eugenijus Alisanka

i love you jesus christ
a little old russian lady says to me
in the nave of the alexander nevski church
and extends her hand to me
clearly she has mistaken me for someone else
i love you too and i bless you
only i don’t have too much of that sort of power
in my pocket i don’t have estonian kronas
what would you do with pesetas zloty or lits
i’ve been traveling for a long time
i’ve grown a beard and long hair
they greet me in the train stations
with bouquets and marching bands
miracles from twentieth century life
i should say something
only i don’t have anything to say
therefore i usually mumble poems
under my breath
with my hand extended
most of the time i mistake someone for
someone else

Here is my answer
But, It Doesn’t Rhyme
Not acquainted with who he is
makes it easy to write like this.
How could he write the things he does
if he really knew who he was?
I can understand some nonsense;
disconnected thoughts make me wince
Not understanding what i see
is never a problem for me.
If i should meet an impish elf,
i might think i had met myself.
In his poems i find a brother
as if we knew one another.
So what, if he’s a little weird,
muttering poems in his beard.

Walt Abbott–5-27-2009