Translated from Romanian by Antuza Genescu
let me shake the snot off my fingers
like a lady
I forgot all about last night
let me take firm steps
the past is the exit from a sagging black tent
time whitens the insides
the rotting flesh
the slippery brew
they must be buried one foot under the snow
right here in the yard
(the music is louder now)
“I don’t live I die I fade away”
in the dark transparent tube like a ballpoint refill
death comes and quenches its thirst
from the basin with yellow rainwater
it is the mule with acacia thorns instead of whiskers
it drinks and feeds
and gets lost in weeds
(the sea
the artesian fountain in the middle)
what could it be and how
after you feel the cold circular pressure on your temple
(the gun brand is almost irrelevant)
after your brains blow up like on the telly
a dome with mines planted inside
then the void
the buried tracks
the return
to the bluish legs of the throne
to the world painted on nylon
on a railwayman’s flag
successive unveilings of busts
these veils
the skies
pierce them like an ice pick
