Aneta Popova


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Best Poem of Aneta Popova

Cologne

He is a drunk!
He is a drunk!
A southern bagpipe
full of mesmerizing tunes.
He is a dancing drunk
ape on my bony shoulders
squeezing my brain
as fresh morning lemonade
my hair
shed on the rough streets.
I bleed!
I bleed!
I fall in his hands
palms of a drunk
they smell like rum
the deck is swaying
he's whispering
dressed in camouflage
drops
of the autumn rain
his words
they taste like mickey
i see fog
all around the boxes for
the so called creatures
with two legs and two arms
and minds who splash
something...

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