well, here he comes for few years now,
as if he lives here
(and sometimes i think it’s for real)
& he tells ’bout women & we are both gulping
& smoking, sometimes he rolls a joint
then his thoughts are completely disconnected and quick.
”i’m tired of all the applauds”, he says, & i know
how he feels, & we silently admit it’s easier
with them, they come as an antipode for the blues, like
cloudy morning. which is better then sunny morning,
when you are hangovered. when we are hangovered.
he goes trough my manuscripts, never
saying a word, he’s like me, damn son of a bitch,
but i can’t throw him out, he’s been here so many times
many times when i’d been almost lost, very
lost, & damn aware of all the loses
that i’ve been trough, & all the loses that are awaiting me
on this one, on that one, & on all of the other existing worlds.
”you son of a bitch, he murmures in his moustaches, you never show off with somethin’”,
& we both pour one more
while i’m tapping blues with my foot
it gets hard when we’re out of beer, the eyes
get heavier, & there is nothing left to do
so we show each other our tattoos.
the night is a whore too expensive for us.
but we always take her
anyway.
Translated: Vampir & Luna, 190996