Szivárvány, 1995 (16. évfolyam, 45-46. szám)
1995 / 45. szám
[moon rises above the terrace of the museum coffee-house our musings soaked in red wine...] moon rises above the terrace of the museum coffee-house our musings soaked in red wine have become refined into curses unnoticed we sat there in the hopeless air of the consolidation that had fallen on us : I could say: we also could have had a history we wore our wounds inflicted by the authorities more proudly than imprints of love-bites in the flaming season of love-making our memories have vaporised into non-being unnoticed, and you see there is nobody now to hold on to my destiny for her life at night so I listen to the harps of angels seated on the moon the drunken moon rose all in red at the musing terrace of the museum coffee-house, we were sitting there all consolidated for we had had our dead already and were sure that others will follow, in our mouths we felt the rotten taste of each others’ napes of neck and the bluish-green fragrance of past teas and girls swapped between us in the burnt gully------they were dead and others perhaps above us souls of melancholic bulls were cruising in the twilight sky our hair now listens to the syntax of winter: oh we knew, we were just sitting there amongst the curses that had fallen upon us our drinks made the blue lampposts shudder and retch but we were not sick stood our ground with the mud reaching as far as our lips, waiting only for the wind, in vain for the night was static and lukewarm untouched by our bad symbols hollow cemeteries did not burden it with heavy vapours were waiting for the wind the wind musing we sat ready to go so that we’d soar up and fly away from the red-wine-soaked terrace of the museum coffee-house unnoticed away forever away towards the full moon [by George Gömöri] 67
