Through this soggy night
I am pleased only
with the meaningless crawl of snails
in the pouring rain
when I forget
to manage to produce something
before the rainbow unfolds.
The evening is moist
God is soaked too
hidden in the pages of the red book.
I’m trying to find Him
following the tracks of snails.
The evening is moist
and I, the deranged one,
am healing
my putrefied brain
with stale cigarettes
while the rain
is screwing my undefiled lines
turning my song to a dirty ad.
December
2007
Los
Angeles
Translated by Samvel Mkrtchyan
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