I told her,
“I’m the man who shot Jesse James.”
She said,
“Poetry don’t work on whores.”
Her lips moved as little as a virgin’s womb,
Early in the spring
In the young town
High in the furs before the snow.
The place doesn’t exist any more.
She said,
“You cut the head off a snake,
You can eat it,
But never become
As friendly as pigs.”
I told her,
“I have never seen such well shaped limbs.”
She said,
“You can move into me now,
But go away before I give birth,
Because I don’t want him
To know your name.”
I had already killed my friends.
I said,
“Now in your bedroom,
The omens promised bad luck,
Which moated and dungeoned him.”
Afterwards, I grew a beard
And walked away
Like a faded lance buried in the stream.
She grew into red dresses,
And hung around the child’s eyes,
Though never thinking to search
Beneath the banking snows.
Yes, about «snakes and pigs» graceful the admonition … is beautiful
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great work of art! enjoyed every line!