Metallic air hostess:
"tea or coffee".
Little choice, tight sky,
the girl beside me
files her nails slack,
cured nails
look eager for some sturdy lover’s back,
I’m flying right into your claws.

Thousand files sharpen the world edges,
cosmic and nail dust,
I’m gnawed every day
by some deaf grind-stones,
my trouser cuffs are frayed by the streets of the world
and maybe a little by the shrink of my calcareous limbs,
unstoppable like soil erosion.

The cloud beside me seems like a nude, at least no trousers on,
30,000 cold feet – an army of scared runaway brides,
the wind blows her arms with cold and weird fahrenheits,
nostrils of sky sneeze
stirred by the dust of your thought today,
I don’t dare to think of you in big chunks,
a file gnaws your wood patiently,
I’ll carve you through thin layers, educated and courtly
and by civilized readings of a slave.
I’m a saw resting its jaw
on a nail’s arm.

Harder than the fleshy tires of the plane on concrete
crashed my lips on your concept, boxer bruise and swell,
I’ve been a thousand landings,
and thought of you
in all of them,
an idle smoke
hangs still
over the collision’s spot,
an after-crime revolver,
I blow by instinct or default
and give to my breathe a reason,

after killing your thought,
I weep
while closing its eyelids
and mine
like a book
after capitulation.

The files of your misperception gnaw me slowly
with a maestro patience,
and I won’t pass away until you’ve made your David out of me.

4 Komente

(if i may casually file a few of the nails)

Air hostess decree:
"coffee or tea".
The little choice of tight skies;
the girl beside me files
her nails slack, (maybe you mean slick/sleek?)
cured nails look eager for some sturdy lover’s back.
I’m flying right into your claws.

A thousand files sharpen the edges of the universe
into a trail of cosmic nail dust.
Every day I am grinded by deaf stones,
my trouser cuffs are frayed by the streets of the world,
and maybe a little by the shrinking of my calciferous limbs
unstoppable, like soil erosion.

The cloud beside me appears in the nude, surely not in trousers.
30,000 feet – an army of scared runaway brides,
the wind whisks her arms with cold, odd fahrenheits,
the heavenly nostrils sneeze 
stirred by the dust of your thought.
I don’t dare think of you in big chunks.
The file gnaws on your wood patiently
I carve you in thin layers, cultivated and courtly 
like the civilized readings of a slave.
I’m a saw resting its jaw
on the arm of a nail.

I really loved 'I don't dare think of you in big chunks,' and the last image&sound.

Te me falesh per lirine qe i dhashe vetes. Ne shume vende do te doja te fusja fjale tranzitore, qe radhet te mos dalin si lista gjendjesh dhe imazhesh, por qenka pune e veshtire. Gjithashtu tek rreshti '30,000 feet' ajo ushtria e nuseve e ben sintaktikisht te sikletshem rikthimin tek reja origjinale, por s'dija si ta ndryshoja.

 

slack as in a slack manner; e leshuar, e flashket... (ne origjinalin perfundimtar vargu ne fakt eshte "vajza ne krah / limon thonjte nga limontia&quotsmiley.

me pelqeu ajri yt, do me besosh per kete.

te besoj, perse mos te te besoj smiley. e kuptoj slack-un. me versionin shqip u ngaterrova ca se ti kishe bere ndryshime dhe se nisa te frustrohesha nga moszoterimi i lendes smiley.

just wanna say thanks, trop. was seeing this one again and suddenly realized that the highs and downs (in poetry) do vary according to the language (and all what language drags with). 

Needless to say, this will end right there where you did it. thx!

Për të komentuar tek Peshku pa ujë, ju duhet të identifikoheni ose të regjistroheni (regjistrimi është falas).