3. THE VOICE OF DEMIGODS Poem by Milko Valent

music is the voice of the demigods.
every night they each drink a fresh egg
through the narrow trumpet.
yolks drip through madness
in the corner of some club without a doorman.
during that time the gods are silent.
they are private virtues,
intimate underwear for two.
the gods are silent and dream loud
bar dawns as the hell of the holy trinity:
heaven, purgatory and debauched holiness.
and I love music, the naked lacework of flesh and jazz,
the lace that the heart didn't forget to weave.