New lines from the homophonic telephone

I've been in the (long) process of proctoring a short poem's homophonic journey through different languages (see previous posts here and here). So far the poem has gone English -> German-> Polish-> Faroese-> German -> Hebrew-> French-> English-> Spanish-> Korean-> Telegu-> Italian. It's currently being put, sound for sound, into Maltese. I meant this chain to be shorter, to be about what survives from the original. But I extended the project to meet the page count requirement for a Anomalous Press' chapbook contest. And now it's become about the journey of words and the personality of each new poem. Here are some lines from the latest samples:

• If allowed, there is no newspaper in the heart.
• Same with the police, / almost got guts.
• The fate of friends, / Matt says, perchance, / is rain`, love, / hats.
• Of storks, today there are none, I heard.
• My love makes this city famous.
• The toasts are untamed, we say nothing.

It's nearly a year since the start of this project - slow, slow. But art, love, and other worthwhile things always are. Thank you for attending to these words, reader, nonsensical and strange. More to come soon.