ROOM Poem by Robert Perišić

a body
perhaps it lacks objectivity
on the terrace of the Excelsior Hotel he said I don't remember
you can't catch up with me
smoke was spilling on
her breasts
in the strong cigar bed
Virginia because he was afraid of death
of nothing slowly
it disappears
as
a legend
his name was Eugene
Shostakovich
in his room
with a view of a large park
they found
many love letters
unopened
empty
and by the bed, on the floor
La Tarifa delle Puttane di Venezia
fruit and vegetables in the bowl on the table
several drafts with that motif
windows were open
like a machine that stopped
and framed the landscape