to Sh. K.
It seemed to me, I saw red lanterns,
rather then traffic lights at an uncoupling of railway station.
Where are people, hetaerae; chilled bitches
have not already huddled up to concrete walls
in the anaemic dance. Not licked hands...
Rodopis, I would die in the frost as far as new day"s dawning,
dreaming on the close July of the one thousand and nine hundred
eighty fourth, when ugly leaves of willow
tickled shoulders of reflecting in Desna.
Mirror. The simplest motion and not having taken a hand,
would never be able and in slumber,
in slumber, Rodopis, I was shown vivid Isop
and nothing more. No pain. No awe -
the sweaty shirt clings to the body in the morning.
And every thing will change. Don"t mourn, don"t drink...
Farewell, Rodopis. See you soon. Good evening, darling.
January 1999
Bycovo
Rodopis
© Copyright: Martin75, 2001
Свидетельство о публикации №101101700129
Свидетельство о публикации №101101700129
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