To Columbo Dans ma cervelle se promène; Ainsi qu’en son appartement, Un beau chat… Baudelaire
It’s for you to teach me how to live—I’ve not done it myself, after all. How to make oneself smaller (curled up in a tight little ball) or bigger (stretched out over half of the carpet) than actual size. I can read your miaow-moirs—miaow-mmeh! derisive contempt for those creatures who live by the quill, and are ripe for the kill. Take a stroll down my keyboard, your terrific striped tail in tow, for its sibilant swish is superior to my stuff, you know. Lie down on my book, and I won’t shoo you off, because you’re more lyrical, you, than Anna, Marina, Iosif, Boris, Velemir. What they placed on paper is something that you bear by birth. So sing me your song with Mandelshtam’s head in your mouth.
Nothing else do I have that can help me get over my fear, when you’re out after twelve and teeth-baring night is here.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-10-14 07:38 pm (UTC)Dans ma cervelle se promène;
Ainsi qu’en son appartement,
Un beau chat…
Baudelaire
It’s for you to teach me how to live—I’ve not done it myself, after all.
How to make oneself smaller (curled up in a tight little ball)
or bigger (stretched out over half of the carpet) than actual size.
I can read your miaow-moirs—miaow-mmeh! derisive contempt
for those creatures who live by the quill, and are ripe for the kill.
Take a stroll down my keyboard, your terrific striped tail in tow,
for its sibilant swish is superior to my stuff, you know.
Lie down on my book, and I won’t shoo you off, because
you’re more lyrical, you, than Anna, Marina, Iosif, Boris,
Velemir. What they placed on paper is something that you bear by birth.
So sing me your song with Mandelshtam’s head in your mouth.
Nothing else do I have that can help me get over my fear,
when you’re out after twelve and teeth-baring night is here.