AKTUELL - 03.03.2008

03. 03. 2008, 23:58 | by DEREVO

So we’ve been to Samara, St. Petersburg, Moscow…

Something happened to us or to the people who are here for us.
Now they all really-really want us to be and to live,
Although I’ve had some other plans recently.
And the black cloud is covering the birthmarks and the stubble…
And suddenly, as expected, there’s so much Love!
Not simply, “D’you have any tickets still?”
But crying, “I need it! I flew from Siberia…”

White snow. The colour of the morning alley in a sanatorium just as you’re going out of breath after the nurses’ words:
“There’s a visitor for you.”
“Who?” – you’re pleading – “Who?”
She smiles.
“You’ll see for yourself.”

Pyjamas, a hospital-gown; and sliding down into the park, throwing off a cast of myself on each step of the stairs, a cast of sinful, blabbing and unique me. Then an excuse for the prepared joke: “I love me, me of my own making…”*

Cold hands, a discomfort, where to put those oranges? And then – slantwise into the snowdrift. An incantation.