A keresés eredménye
Találatok száma: 4
2021.05.08.
Blue plastic tears
Down the early morning's sidewalks
the sun's dancing its milonga with the janitors,
with the eye bags you got too many of, my love,
a day after what's gone with the wind.
The secretaries in the offices
are having a snack for breakfast in the street corner
and when they come down the moon to the tough disc to crack,
with their sleep upside down and a future with no tomorrow, they cry
Blue plastic tears rolling down the stairs,
southern seas' tribes at the border's west side,
rolling paper lips, wise men who don't know anything,
castaways at the cathedral, cobwebs who are used
to passing the night at the glass.
The surgeons of disappointments
cut healthy joy,
the dawning's veins stock up on cold blood
and every monday a new day is born dead.
The lipstick, corner of your mouth,
touches up the carmine's insults,
pimps neatly put on their toupees
and Romeos run late and Juliets fall out of love.
Blue plastic tears rolling down the stairs,
southern seas' tribes at the border's west side,
rolling paper lips, wise men who don't know anything,
castaways at the cathedral, rebellious cobwebs...
Goodbye-flavored blue plastic tears
When will the bus cross this dead end?
rolling paper lips, wise men who don't know anything,
hospital flower's petals, rebellious cobwebs...
Blue plastic tears
When will the bus cross?
(Southern seas' tribes...)
2020.10.14.
I want to be an Almodóvar girl
I want to be an Almodóvar girl
like Maura , like Victoria Abril,
a little clever, a little bit silly,
going out with Madonna in a limousine.
I want to be an Almodóvar girl
like Bibí , like Miguel Bosé,
not caring about anything and never going out of fashion,
dancing with you The last torch song .
And never stop traveling, from winter to summer
from Madrid to New York, from an embrace to oblivion,
leaving you in the dark hearing some noise
of distant high heels .
Finding a way out of this grey labyrinth
without passion, sin, madness nor incest,
having a different lover in every port,
never cry 'What have I done to deserve this?'
I want to be an Almodóvar girl,
like Pepi, Like Luci, like Bom,
selling go the Garbo my bedroom secrets,
mourn for some matador.
I want to be an Almodóvar girl,
and beg to my boyfriend 'Tie me up!',
giving my soul away only to the man who steals it
and have breakfast at Tiffany's with him.
And not let those shady moves
from Croats and Serbians get to my head,
living all the time on the verge of a nervous breakdown ,
wearing a skirt and going crazy .
Finding a way out of this grey labyrinth
without passion, sin, madness nor incest,
having a different lover in every port,
never cry 'What have I done to deserve this?'
Writing my memories like Patty Diphusa ,
signing up for any kind of bombing,
not believing in anything but skin, with Desire
as my only law .
Finding a way out of this grey labyrinth
without passion, sin, madness nor incest,
having a different lover in every port,
never cry 'What have I done to deserve this?'
2018.04.29.
Let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
Versions: #3
There, where all roads cross,
where the sea is something inconceivable,
where the runaway always returns to,
let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
Where desire travels in elevators
there’s still a hole left for me.
Me, that I leave my life bit to bit on its corners,
let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
Girls no longer want to be princesses
and boys take to pursuing
the sea in a glass of gin,
let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
The birds go visit the shrink,
the stars forget to come out,
death passes by inside white ambulances,
let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
The sun is a butane gas heater
life is an underground train about to leave,
there’s a needle in the toilet,
let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
When Death comes visit me,
carry me down south where I was born,
there’s no more room for anyone here,
let’s say I’m talking about Madrid.
about Madrid...
about Madrid.
2017.07.31.
Leningrad
I earned a doctorate in your cut-price lips
in a sordid guesthouse in Leningrad
passport-less and against the law
but drunk as a disinherited king
Fifty rubles was a fortune
and you, nude, a mannequin of burgundy and gold
They gave us keys to the wedding suite,
a hospital backroom with no toilet
We stayed for a vodka with lemon
and a Menshevik bore on the corner
When chitchat died down, such anxiety,
you started to unbutton your trenchcoat
It wasn’t easy in the Soviet Union
to go to reception for condoms
Light years away from routine
a swallow nested on my balcony
I don’t know what happened to us or why,
what we ran into that crazy night
We babbled corny things very fast
and prayed, our mouths undoing us
We were killing ourselves from wanting to live,
overreacting, vaudeville of bohemia
Not sleeping was sweeter than dreaming
and aging with dignity,
a blasphemy
You with a beret, me with a beard, long live Che,
born again to a new man’s faith
The Berlin Wall hadn’t fallen
Nor had Sarajevo’s powderkeg burst
because the revolution's check had an Achilles' Heel
And floating among the ruins
a sparrow was widowed on my balcony
Yesterday you were leaving brown, coffee-colored
Now I haven’t seen you for almost a half-century
You were blonde, if I don’t remember wrong
I said, and lying, you’re even prettier
You accepted a non-alcoholic beer from me
The sun on the tiles had died on us
Funerals, and with nothing to say
I saw in your pupils a badly-dawn indigo
I don’t know why I keep writing this song
but my heart bleeds
when I dig into it
I found out you married a judge
and Leningrad is again Saint Petersburg
We didn’t even mention if we stayed
Pass me your address
And back in the office
a sparrow crashed into my balcony
Because the revolution's check had an Achilles' Heel
And floating among the ruins
a sparrow was widowed on my balcony