Trafika Europe 3 - Latvian Sojourn

Prologue

ou – swallowers of the scepters of power, I sing of you, and below, in the Daugava, the water cries, where you have drowned your dreams. Wounds are torn open, and sparks become black, making you cold at the bonfire. Open your eyes locked shut, I will in singing do tricks for you, from an honored troubadour be transformed to a clown and welter rags in mud, and you can trample me underfoot. A stanza here and there will be dedicated to those who suck dreams through thick draperies, I am their deputy, I – black morphine, strategist of recklessness, just listen to me and free up your nerves and throats, I will like a butterfly search out a grey field and with fine proboscis drone over the rushes, for my friend is a bumblebee, hidden in green forest, and all around only late morning, and, twirling tablets into mouths, I extend myself, turning my gaze to the Highest, and of burning angels running in flames I will plead forgiveness. Cobwebs wrap my wing, my jug empty, no longer the warmth of childhood, only gloomy and cool hung-over morning. Y

The Spinner of Tales to the Court

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