вторник, 30 юни 2015 г.


(Пристъпвам в чужд език.
Отдавна ми се иска. И някак естествено е, по много причини, да се случи точно сега.
На английски срещам себе си гранично.
Това е достатъчно.
А темите, разбира се, са същите.)

try to imagine
the saddest rhythm of the hours
(the one that strikes just before sunrise)
taste it. (like you’d taste a kiss from a stranger)
then take it in your hands (take all that linden time)
hold it, squeeze it, break it into pieces (the same pieces
that your sleep is woven from)

now. see?  you have your reason to run away
(and run away my dear)
your city is no longer the lover
your home has served its duties
stretch the room (go on)
stretch the space of your books
and your music
and your papers and letters and furniture.
jump in that crack on the shelf

found it? right. 
remember what you had to imagine?
the saddest rhythm of the hours
it’s dandling in your chest now
the saddest rhythm of the hours
and you’re content
(and you cherish it)
this is you. 
(a snake eating its tale)
a girl swollen by the crack of her imperfect

the rhythm is tart on your tongue 
the cause lays (as it always does)
in all that linden time

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