Oh, Almost! (O, Почти!)
November 7, 2007
To Georgi Borisov
I killed him, my Mozart, at the entrance –
And the soccer, ah, my soccer –
Ah, my old Pleven period!
Who is that man round the corner
With a smile of toothpicks?
Good afternoon, Mister, come in,
We are in the office already!
On my white-green, wet-green hair
A thousand of sick skies alight
They weigh on my branches
Each with its own thermometer,
Each with its fly in the mouth.
So, how is it out there?
Oh, almost like here!
With thermometers, with flies…