Для Dva-Stula.
Street Girl
I am writing you the chronicles of mine,
the manual to hold me, to hold on to,
dwelling on your thin emotional breadline
I am writing my lovely-sinful record to you.
Street girl, you'll never beat the street,
no matter how much you wear out your blue gumshoes,
how much you harden your stamina and feet,
how much of what I've written you is blues.
Peering into the inner city of your shape,
rearranging your limbs when you're brain is scattered
is what I translate in your mind while I gape,
is what you do when you're shattered. Once again shattered.
The mouthful of quick “hellos” and undercooked “good-byes”
condemned by the electrical eyes of cities
that's what result in rusty mysteries and lies
and a heart trembling for one more squeeze.
I am writing you my memorial for gone and will-be
while you're in hell diving for a pearl
if only my rhymes could serve you as a false kea
but you don't need it, street girl. Sweet girl.