in undershirt (stained, of
course) (and with cigarette
holes)
shoes off
beerbottle in hand
trying to shake off a
difficult night, say with a
woman still around
walking the floor
complaining about this and
that,
and I’d work up a
belch and say, ‘HEY, YOU DON’T
LIKE IT? THEN GET YOUR ASS
OUT OF HERE!’
I really loved myself, I
really loved my slob-
self, and
they seemed to also:
always leaving
but almost
always
coming
back.
a lot ofdesperationdissatisfactionanddi sillusiontowriteafewgoodp oems.it’s notforeverybodyeither towriteitor even toreadit
needs andconcerns.but I watch and learn from them.I like the little they know,which is somuch.they complain but neverworry,they walk with a surprising dignity.they sleep with a direct simplicity thathumans just can’tunderstand.their eyes are morebeautiful than our eyes.and they can sleep 20 hoursa daywithouthesitation orremorse.when I am feelinglowall I have to do iswatch my catsand mycouragereturns.I…
have I everdreamed ofbicycling through thatcitywearing aberetandCamusalwayspisse dmeoff.
for 3 or 4 days.they’ll find me there.it’s Cherub, they’ll say, andthey pour wine down my throatrub my chestsprinkle me with oils.
‘agony, alwaysagony …’
bu isler boyle mi oluyor?bu odada hala ask saatlerinin golgeleri var.birakip gittiginde asagi yukari herseyi alip gittin.geceleri beni ben olmaya koymayan kaplanlarin onunde diz cokuyorum.senin sen olman asla bir daha olmayacak.kaplanlar beni buldular ama artik umurumda bile degil.translated by somebody
