***

feet beat the asphalt like drums

jazz descends through the trumpet`s throat like the boiled honey

you cough-

your scarf is light your trousers are worn out

smoke me,-you ask,-smoke me

as nycturia smokes my body

as my parents smoke my childhood and what comes after it

as my lovers  leave my rudeness and smoke my tongue

smoke me,please,smoke me

I would forget the boys whom I`ve given birth

and nobody would kiss me at the moment of entering

and wouldn`t say good-bye before leaving

my palate feels the presence of DEATH

like it would feel the darkest chocolate

mealted

condensated

and black

everybody has gone and i close my eyes and then open

it seems we`ve not been speaking to each other for a long time

and that day`s drug grows in our veins

my daughter,when you die

I would become the city whore

the ownerless dogs would tear my body to pieces

and the cyclists would come up and down on the moon over my nerves

I want close the door and swallow the key

I don`t manage doing it

I want to smile as once

it is not the same

I want come to you like a useful thing

like an electric guitar, like a planet, like a book

applaud, my daughter

applaud

my heart is aching

cause the hall is empty

who would give birth to children for you, my daughter

who would say nice words, caress your shoulder

whose  ear lobe would you bite

would you sing under rain

would you write down words

would your feet be hard, your thighs be tight

would you live in the electric guitar

would you get on your planet and go away

I would wake up terrified at 00:00:00

my eyelids would be heavier, leaden

my wet bed would shiver with me

seemingly opening my eyes

i would smoke

seemingly closing my eyes…

and nobody would be near to my heart, nobody

only the sharp smell of the pain would be

that would spread through air like JAZZ

like a lit  off cigarette

i would shout your name

you wouldn`t hear me

i would do it once more

you wouldn`t hear me

and i would shout in low voice

not to awake you all of a sudden

my stringed girl sleeping under the guitar nerves

peaceful like ROCK music and hard like JAZZ

do you hear feet beating the asphalt like drums

and even if i don`t  know playing

i would  pick up the trumpet and would tell you a sad lullaby

about run-down people who would be destroyed tomorrow

and instead of them they would built a new avenue

do you hear feet beating the asphalt like drums

Author`Hasmik  Simonian

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