вторник, сентября 20, 2005


I am still waiting where you left me
Outside the produce section
Halfway between the homogenized milk
And the automatic doors
How can there be such an abundance of colour and fragrance
And so little nourishment for the soul?

Dearest, I’ve dropped the remote control
And its just out of reach
The people are lost in the aisles
And there is no one to change the channel
Where are the French movies about love on horseback?
Where is Pepe le Pue making love to the cat?
Where is the sense of a meaningful sexuality
Our fathers died for in the Great Patriotic War?

Natasha, dearest,
I have lost my sense of time
And fear being late for ALL engagements
Natasha, my love!
My desires have lost all proportion –
I want flags on everything
And a woman with tambourines tied to her legs
I want a floor that creaks
Every time you come back to bed
But with just enough of the indecision
I want trinkets everywhere
To charm you
And a statue of Lenin weeping
For the wicked things he’s done
I want jam pouring from the faucets
And soup cans in the microwave
I want you on the morning after
Your last great love

I want you to forgive me
For being less beautiful than you
And still putting on airs
Like the little dog
With no income
And too much pride

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