A live person in a bad mood
is as absurd
as a dead person in a good mood.
Bložė head. So then – Kunčius or Kunčinas?
STOP. Do not enter. Continue on foot. Along Tūla’s
paths. One way road
over the bridge. Caution. Let the driver sleep,
girls. Literary excursion. And the teacher is hot.
No, that one, the hot one, got sick. I like that one. Tūla. Couldn’t give her,
like, a normal name. Dust from the construction site
nearby. A spherical nothing. In pairs or
in small groups. Fine, I’ll tell you normally.
Since the spring they’re collecting signatures, maybe they’ll ban it. What’s burning here? Nothing’s
burning, this is Užupis. A squat for bums by the river. The water will rise
and wash it away. And the property values, and you won’t please everyone.
Zokas is a thief instead of Street of Death and a stylish pizzeria
in place of a public restroom. And here is the house with haunted
windows. Here, it’s believed, it was, but elsewhere not at all.
Just paroles paroles paroles. Bushes behind the gymnasium.
Tart red with a twist-off cap. Cheap, but
French. You only brought one bottle? Yes, have we
not seen Vilnius? Kiss kiss, while
we’re alone. Until the teacher and your former classmates disappear
behind closed eyes. Stairs, seems like these weren’t here,
moving forward. A group of rutting dogs cross the path –
if we didn’t count, we could say: there are six.
On the other side, there is the old cemetery and the new settlers
elbowing in. You came from the side where the mythical
creature sits atop a tall column. With wings too small
to fly. Take the loathsome horn from his hands, give him a bottle
of the sweetest wine you have or some other drink
from the period of occupation. Yet, not everything is lost. It’s still possible
in this god-forsaken place, where the dead brush up against foreigners,
to get high off breathing in the dust of the excavation site. Speed limit: 20
years. To light your first cigarette, to cross paths with your
Tūla, one more time forever.
Translated by Ada Valaitis