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The Já and all the others
 31.07.2025 1 115(2) |
As water runs down the window,
the light from the street runs down with it.
It runs down, but it doesn't.
The puddles on the road
have become mirrors
in Baroque frames.
Why do I feel like
you're spying me?
The night prefers scallops
and black olives, if you don't mind
- if you mind not. Do you mind?
I like rockeries
and balustrades in the background
and an orchestra playing Vivaldi, for example.
Why do I feel like
I died last year
just passing through purgatory?
How do you know you're dead?
How did Vivaldi know?
The black olives have lost their taste.
Maybe I've unknowingly
passed through a mirror and can't go back.
The corks on old wines
are covered in sealing wax - that's because of the air.
Besides, nothing falls upwards. It's not a fall,
but overdo it with the wine and the world will turn
you will walk on the clouds with bare feet,
clay with shards will press you on your head,
and angels, like little snakes, like blindworms,
will weave through your fingers trying how to bite you.
Be careful. Don't trust this world.
Be like an olive, float to the surface
to the surface of half-truths and enjoy the view.
I can't do it anymore:
wake up from the coma,
and continue on that topic.
the light from the street runs down with it.
It runs down, but it doesn't.
The puddles on the road
have become mirrors
in Baroque frames.
Why do I feel like
you're spying me?
The night prefers scallops
and black olives, if you don't mind
- if you mind not. Do you mind?
I like rockeries
and balustrades in the background
and an orchestra playing Vivaldi, for example.
Why do I feel like
I died last year
just passing through purgatory?
How do you know you're dead?
How did Vivaldi know?
The black olives have lost their taste.
Maybe I've unknowingly
passed through a mirror and can't go back.
The corks on old wines
are covered in sealing wax - that's because of the air.
Besides, nothing falls upwards. It's not a fall,
but overdo it with the wine and the world will turn
you will walk on the clouds with bare feet,
clay with shards will press you on your head,
and angels, like little snakes, like blindworms,
will weave through your fingers trying how to bite you.
Be careful. Don't trust this world.
Be like an olive, float to the surface
to the surface of half-truths and enjoy the view.
I can't do it anymore:
wake up from the coma,
and continue on that topic.
Black olives : trvalý odkaz
Následující deník autora : Velký sněm
Předchozí deník autora : Španělská
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