Hair and Hide.(Poem)

 
HAIR AND HIDE 
 
   Every new cigarette strengthens 
   The taste of cemetery 
   In my mouth, where 
   I bury all the kisses I 
   Can no longer give you. 
 
   I have given up 
   The mobile on the table, 
   No news is to be 
   Expected, at the edge 
   Of the precipice 
   There is no network. 
 
   Standing at Leopardi's 
   Grave, I asked myself whether 
   Cultivated pessimism is 
   Worth it when in the end 
   You just get punished 
   With a large lump 
   Of marble. 
 
   Our clocks were out 
   Of sync, you 
   Had time and were 
   Never punctual, I 
   Always was, meticulous as 
   A German official 
   Around 1910, I missed 
   Only that last and 
   Decisive appointment. 
 
   Probably I wanted only 
   To possess you, it can't 
   Be love when I 
   Hope that you are 
   Doing poorly and your throat 
   Is rough and dry 
   From longing for me. 
 
   I killed a wasp, 
   It hadn't done anything 
   To me and didn't 
   Disturb me 
   In the least, I extinguished 
   It without knowing 
   Did I mean you 
   Or myself or both of us. 
 
   Haute Couture had come to 
   Power in the worker's 
   Capital. On the roof of Trifonov's house 
   ...